


Viximus, Amavimus, Vicimus: Part One

by KitLlwynog



Series: Viximus, Amavimus, Vicimus [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, And they listened to the women sometimes, Eventual Happy Ending, Eventual Smut, F/M, It even comes with a soundtrack, Period-Typical Sexism, Period-Typical Underage, Rhaegar and Lyanna live, What if the men didn't always do the stupidest thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-10-23
Packaged: 2018-12-23 01:55:45
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 42,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11979657
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KitLlwynog/pseuds/KitLlwynog
Summary: Lyanna Stark is a wild northern girl unsatisfied by the future her father has laid out for her. Rhaegar Targaryean has sacrificed everything he wanted to serve a future he isn't even sure exists. Together, they might escape their fate and see the Song of Ice and Fire come to life.If they can manage not to embroil all of Westeros in civil war.





	1. The Follies of Youth

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Scenes from Rhaegar and Lyanna's childhoods.

**Summerhall, 259 AC**

A scream rent the air, and the people in the feasting hall cheered. “To a healthy child!” someone said, raising their glass in a toast. Princess Rhaella was in labor, and with any luck, the King would soon have a great-grandchild. The realm was peaceful and prosperous, and nearly everyone was drunk. It was gearing up to be a spectacular night.

“Long live King Aegon and his line!” shouted another lord, his wine sloshing over the rim of his cup, and the whole table roared agreement and drank. After a moment, the King raised his hand for silence.

“The Queen and I are grateful for your encouragement and praise, but let us not forget, it is not only for my grandson’s child that we celebrate. Today, the dragons will return to Westeros.” He extended his hand to the dais behind him. Seven dragon eggs sat there, each cradled in a nest of kindling, their shells almost jewel-like in the flickering torchlight. “Like the dragons of old, we will pass through fire and be renewed. Let the ritual begin.”

At the back of the palace, Rhaella cried out as another contraction rippled over her abdomen. She could hear the faint sound of voices chanting through the wall. Sweat poured over her forehead. “Just a bit more. I can see the head,” said the midfwife. Rhaella nodded, taking a deep breath. She could do this. Her mother had done it, and her mother before her, a long line of Targaryens stretching back to the time of Visenya. The sound of the chanting increased.

The next contraction began to build, and she bore down with all her might, letting out a primal scream. It burned like wildfire, but she could feel the baby coming through the birth canal, pressing at the apex of her thighs. “That's it. One more should do it,” the midwife said, crouched down on the ground below Rhaella. 

They had brought up a birthing stool, but the princess had scorned it, choosing instead to hang on to a rope suspended from the ceiling, as her mother had suggested. “Let the pull of the earth do your work for you,” she had said, before releasing her daughter to the care of her own midwife, Varry. Shaera had wanted to be there for her daughter, but felt obligated to remain at the side of her husband during King Aegon’s great attempt to revive the dragons. Privately, Rhaella was glad that their mother was keeping Aerys company. No one liked to speak of it aloud, but the whole family knew that he could be emotionally volatile. 

The chanting in the next room reached a crescendo, and then, just as Rhaella felt the warm rush of relief that was her child being delivered into the arms of the midwife, a deafening boom shook the whole building. The baby cried, a plaintive and fearful wail. “What is the King up to? Good gracious, he’ll bring the whole castle down, he will,” Varry said cheerfully, wiping the child clean and wrapping it with a blanket. “A healthy son, with a fine head of hair already.” But Rhaella was not even looking at her child, her face turned toward the door with an expression of fear.

“Do you hear that?” The midwife paused in the act of swaddling the newborn prince, whose cries had abated. Perhaps he had only been cold. The dragon fire in their blood made the Targaryens rather partial to hot climates, and Rhaella supposed a babe would be even more sensitive.

Varry tilted her head in the momentary silence and shrugged. “I don't hear anything, Princess.”

“That’s just it. It’s too quiet,” Rhaella whispered, dread twisting in her guts. That was when they heard the first screams. Varry frowned and handed her the child, and he looked into his mother’s face with wide-eyed wonder. Looking at him, his damp silver hair and eyes still newborn dark, Rhaella was struck by a wave of fierce protectiveness and love. Rhaegar, that was the name they had chosen for him, the first of a new generation of Targaryens. 

The midwife pulled open the door and a rush of emerald flames arced into the room with a whoosh of heat, blowing the glass from the windows. Rhaella did not hesitate to run out into the night, though her feet were cut by the shards of broken glass and fluid still streamed from between her legs.

It was hours later that Aerys found her, with nothing but a blanket around her shoulders, her face and hair streaked with soot. He looked lost in that moment, like a little boy bereft of his mother, with a dirty face and his fair hair all askew. “Rhae… You survived. Grandfather, he…”

“I know,” she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. He smelled of burnt hair and ashes. “But we’re alive. And our son. Look at how beautiful he is.” She passed the sleeping newborn to Aerys, her husband, her brother, her constant companion. His eyes opened wide.

“A son,” he said, with rough awe. All around them was the sound of weeping and the sickly orange glow of the flames in the distance, but the babe slept on.

**Winterfell, 266 AC**

“How much longer till we can see Mother again?” Brandon Stark asked, his voice petulant. He rolled a marble across the stone floor with the tip of his shoe, back and forth over and over. It was an awful noise, but no one else in the chilly antechamber so much as looked up, all lost in their own thoughts.

“It takes time for a babe to be born, young man. Have patience,” Nan replied, waving her knitting needle in a threatening way. “And your Lady-mother will need rest after that. Don't expect to go clinging to her skirts. You're the man of the house while your father is away.”

“When will he be back?” asked the younger boy, Eddard, his voice steady and serious despite the childish lisp.

“As soon as he can. He's riding home from the Vale right now.” Before either boy could ask another question, a door swung open and every head raised up at the sound.

“Lady Lyarra says to bring the boys in to see their sister, if they like,” the midwife said, and Nan ushered the youngsters into the room ahead of her. Brandon was reluctant, his arms folded stubbornly over his chest, while Ned was quiet and stolid, his small face screwed into an expression much too grave for a three year old.

“My boys,” Lyarra said, her voice hoarse but strong. “I hope you haven't been giving Nan any trouble.”

“No, mother,” they answered in unison, and she caressed each head of dark hair with a smile.

“Are you ready to meet your new sister, Lyanna?” she asked, holding the small bundle down where they could see.

Brandon's expression was skeptical. “I wanted another brother. Girls are no fun.”

“And what do you think, Ned? Will you be a good big brother and protect your sister?” Lyarra asked, a smile in her voice. Eddard leaned closer to the baby, and the two siblings regarded each other with similar expressions of reverence.

“Yes, mother. I will,” he said, reaching out gingerly to touch her tiny hand. She grasped his finger in her fist, and he smiled.

**The Red Keep, 272 AC**

“Prince Rhaegar, there you are.” The boy, a young man now, Aemon supposed, looked up from his harp with an expression of startled concentration, but he smiled when he saw who was speaking. 

“Were you looking for me, Uncle Aemon? I've just been practicing a new song for my mother's name day,” he said, brushing wisps of his silver hair from his face. Already the court gossips talked about what a handsome man he was likely to be, though Aemon wasn't sure that it mattered. Rhaegar was the Crown Prince of Westeros, he was in no danger of lacking for suitors, even if he were homely and disfigured.

“I'll be leaving for the Wall again soon, but I found a book I thought you might be interested in. I heard you like to read.” Rhaegar laughed.

“I know what they say about me, Uncle, that my mother swallowed a book and candle to keep me occupied in the womb. And worse things than that.” Aemon had heard them too. They called the boy a weakling, a symptom of too much close breeding in the Targaryen line. The growing paranoia of King Aerys didn't help matters, but there was nothing wrong with Rhaegar, Aemon was sure. He was clever and kind-hearted, a rarity for a boy his age. In any other situation, Aemon would have counseled the Prince to join the Citadel and become a Maester, just as he had. 

“There's no shame in the pursuit of knowledge. But you are your father’s only son. To rule the kingdom, I'm afraid you'll need more than a keen mind.”

Rhaegar sighed and looked up at him, his indigo eyes dark with unseen depths. “I don't like fighting.”

“Nor should you. The kind of man who enjoys harming others is the sort of man who does not deserve to rule.” Rhaegar's eyes widened at the implication. Even he was aware of his father's more sadistic proclivities, though the servants did their best not to speak ill of the monarch in his son’s presence. “Sometimes, we have to do things we don't enjoy to create a better future, don't you think?” Aemon handed the book to his great-nephew, and his slender fingers closed around it with equal parts eagerness and trepidation. “If you ever need anything, the ravens can always find their way to Castle Black.”

“Thank you, Uncle Aemon. I will remember that.” It was only a few weeks later that Prince Rhaegar presented himself to Ser Willem Darry. The master-at-arms raised his bushy eyebrows the moment the Prince entered the armory. Rhaegar had not made it a secret how much he disliked martial pursuits.

“Your Grace? Is there something you need?” he asked. Rhaegar paused, gathering himself. It felt like defeat, in a way, giving himself to the life his father wanted for him, rather than the one he wanted for himself. But the book had convinced him that it was needed. Uncle Aemon thought the prophecy referred to him, born amidst the salt of tears and smoke of the fire that consumed Summerhall. Rhaegar wasn't sure he believed in prophecy, but if there was even a chance…

“I will require a sword and armor. It seems I must become a warrior.”

**King’s Landing, 274 AC**

“Mother is going to be furious if she finds out,” Eddard said, trailing behind his brother and sister, wringing his hands.

“Loosen up, Ned. She won't know if you don't tell her,” Brandon said, swinging the arm that held Lyanna’s hand. She giggled and looked back at her other brother with pleading eyes.

“Please, Ned. I heard one of the mummers in the Street of Seeds dresses like Balerion and real fire comes out of his mouth! I just want to see it.” She stuck out her lower lip, knowing that he would give in, as he always did.

“All right, but only for a little while. If Father notices we’re gone, we’ll be confined to the castle until Harvesttide.” Lyanna favored him with a bright grin and they skipped down the street. 

No one paid them much mind. Dressed in rags, they might have been invisible, though if anyone had bothered to look closely, their clean, well-fed faces would've given them away as nobility. But Kings’ Landing was full of children; a few extra ones were hardly worth notice. They knew they'd reached the Street of Seeds when they heard the sound of music.

There were minstrels all about the square, some of them dancing and turning cartwheels as they sang, which made Brandon grin and Lyanna clap with delight. But there was one musician on the far end who outclassed the others. His voice was a clear, rich tenor, and his fingers flowed over the strings of his lute like water. Lyanna guessed he was about the same age as Brandon, though he was somewhat taller and less stocky. He wore a garish hat topped by a feather, and was currently singing “The Bear and the Maiden Fair.”

“He lifted her high in the air!  
He sniffed and roared, and he smelled her there!  
She kicked and wailed, the maid so fair!….”

Lyanna did not understand the subtext, but it made Brandon laugh uproariously. “I would never dance with a bear. Not even a man who looked like a bear,” she said with a sniff as the song concluded. The minstrel heard and laughed.

“That song isn't really meant for young ladies,” he said. “You may make a request, if it pleases you.”

“Oh, can I? Please, Ned?” It said something about the personalities of the brothers that the younger was the only one who'd thought to bring coin. He fished a silver stag from his purse and handed it to her with an expression of indulgent exasperation. She placed it in the hand of the minstrel and he smiled. “Do you know any songs about Nymeria?” Brandon groaned, but the minstrel’s smile widened.

“The warrior-queen of Dorne? Of course, my lady.” He strummed the lute once, as if considering, and then he began to play. It was beautiful, nothing like the simple ribald verses of the earlier song, but complex and vivid. He told of Nymeria’s flight from Essos, and the burning of the ten thousand ships of the Rhoynar, followed by her marriage to Maros Martell and the unification of Dorne. Even in triumph, the song had a melancholy tone, a wistfulness that Lyanna's eight year old mind could not quite put words to. When the last notes faded away, she sighed.

“Thank you, ser. That was beautiful,” she said. To her surprise, the minstrel knelt down so that he was at her level. 

“It was my pleasure,” he said with a smile. “It's not every day I meet a young lady with such good taste in music, and look,” he added, reaching into her hair, “I've found a dragon in your ear.” He pressed the gold coin into her hand as she gaped at him. His eyes were a strange color, a deep blue-violet she didn't have a name for. He stood and ruffled her hair. “Go on then. Your brother has already run off to see the mummers.” Ned gave a strangled sound of alarm as he realized that Brandon was indeed absent, and they ran across the square, Lyanna clutching the coin to her chest.

**Lannisport, 276 AC**

Banners flapped in the salt-scented breeze as trumpets called out, announcing the first joust of the morning. Lyanna squinted into the sunlight as two riders entered the field. The first man wore armor of red and gold, and his shield bore the Lannister lion. “That's Tygett Lannister,” Eddard supplied from his seat next to her. “Lord Tywin’s brother. He always shows well.”

His opponent was taller and slimmer, and his black armor, with a three headed dragon drawn out in sparkling rubies across the breastplate, was distinctive. “That's Prince Rhaegar?” 

Eddard nodded. “He was just knighted, but Jon Connington swears he's one of the finest warriors ever born. I guess we’ll see.” Lyanna frowned. She thought she'd heard that the Prince was sixteen, surely that was a bit old to have just been knighted? Eddard was only thirteen, and likely to receive his knighthood by next Maiden’s Day. Brandon was down in the lists with their father already.

At the wave of the flag, the two riders charged at each other, their lances each glancing off the other’s shields with a loud scrape. Eddard made a small sound of satisfaction as both horses pranced down to the end of the lane, the riders unhurt. Lyanna watched as the combatants prepared for the next round. Rhaegar leaned over the side of his lively dappled-gray mount to speak to his squire. She'd never seen the Crown Prince before, although she’d heard Cersei Lannister say he was the most beautiful man alive. Having seen King Aerys earlier in the day, Lyanna found that hard to believe.

The flag waved again and the horses raced forward. This time, Rhaegar slipped sideways in the saddle, ducking away from Tygett’s lance and striking him in the shoulder. The older knight flew backwards from his horse, landing hard on his back. The crowd cheered and Rhaegar took off his helm, raising it in a pose of victory. From so far away, it was hard to know whether what Cersei said was true, but his long silver hair was certainly striking, the way it shone in the sunlight. He got down from his horse and held his hand out to Tygett, but the older man shoved it away.

Rhaegar shrugged and walked back to his horse and Eddard shook his head. “That was stupid of him. He lost the match, but it was fair and well fought. Why slight the Prince by refusing an honorable offer of aid?”

“Maybe he was upset about being bested by someone so much younger,” she mused, but privately, she was impressed by Rhaegar’s skill. Lyanna might not have known a lot about jousting, but she did know horses; he had taken a risk, dodging like that in full armor, and it had paid off. The Crown Prince competed several times that day, winning every bout. Each time he rode onto the tourney field, the cheers were louder. Even Eddard was excited.

“If he keeps going like this, he might even win the whole tourney. It would be… almost unheard of for someone to win in their first competition.” Lyanna couldn't help but laugh at her brother’s enthusiasm.

The next morning, she was feeling both restless and inspired. She took her younger brother, Benjen, out to the cleared area behind the pavilions with purloined wooden practice swords. Benjen was only seven, but he was sturdy and had received the training Lyanna had been denied, so they were a good match.

“Mother said I can come to the Champion’s List tomorrow, if I promise to behave,” he said, batting her sword away with his own. “Why do you think is going to win?”

“Prince Rhaegar is doing well, but Eddard thinks Ser Dayne will be the winner. They both won all of their bouts today.” She darted forward and around, whacking her brother on the back of his calf.

“Ouch, Lyanna!” he shouted, stopping to rub his leg. “I heard the Sword of the Morning was the best swordsman in all the Seven Kingdoms. I'll bet you a stag that he wins the Champion’s wreath.”

“Swordwork doesn’t necessarily make a good jouster. I'll take that bet.” Benjen raised his sword again and they exchanged a swift volley of parries, the clacking of the wooden blades echoing in the morning air. If only she'd been allowed to learn, Lyanna thought, she could've jousted too. Maybe not on the level of Rhaegar and Arthur Dayne, but some of the minor nobles would've been easy to beat. They sat on their mounts like they were straddling a milch cow. She dodged a poke to her gut and raised her sword to deliver a good whack.

“Lyanna Stark, what in the gods’ name do you think you're doing?” boomed a deep, gravelly voice.

The sword fell from her suddenly nerveless fingers. “Father!”

Eddard came to her tent a few hours later in an attempt to console her, but she was having none of it. “I know you're the one who told on me to Father!” She hurled her comb at him, having nothing else to hand, and he ducked with a grimace.

“I didn't know you were playing at sword fighting with Benjen. I'm sorry I got you in trouble, but don't you think you're a little old for that anyway?”

“What does age have to do with it? If swordplay is for children, you and Brandon ought to still be in the nursery,” she said, her fists clenched.

“That’s different. You're a lady. You're supposed to be sewing and dancing and talking about children. Father just wants what’s best for you.” Hot anger boiled up her throat like a poison. Lyanna wasn't quite old enough to understand the way the world had changed from the time of Nymeria and Visenya, or to know that the Northmen had never been kind to their women, but she understood when something was unfair. And she hated it with a passion.

“Others take you, Ned Stark! You don't know the first thing about what’s best for me!” This time she threw a silver goblet. Ned retreated before her wrath, but it was a hollow victory. 

She wasn't feeling any more cheerful when she paid Benjen his stag the next afternoon. Arthur Dayne had indeed unhorsed Prince Rhaegar in the final bout, but they embraced like brothers afterward, and the mood at the victory feast was jovial. Lyanna pointedly refused to speak to the rest of her family unless spoken to, but it didn't seem to be having any effect. 

Brandon was dancing with all the pretty girls, and her mother and father were wandering through the crowd, paying final visits to friends before they started the long journey home the next morning. Despite her mother’s encouragement, Lyanna had not had much luck making friends with the other young ladies present. Cersei Lannister was the queen bee of that group, and she had made her disdain for wild northern girls plain. The only consolation was the fact that she had reportedly suffered a crushing disappointment earlier in the evening that had sent her back to Casterly Rock in tears. Her father, Lord Tywin, had asked King Aerys to betrothe his daughter to Prince Rhaegar and had been refused.

It seemed ridiculous to Lyanna. Cersei wasn't any older than her. How could she possibly think about getting married? Of course, if you were going to marry, you couldn't do much better than the Crown Prince… A hush fell over the hall, and the sound of someone strumming a harp rang sweetly in the evening air. After a few bars of gentle melody, a voice began to sing. Lyanna stiffened; though it had deepened somewhat with maturity, the voice was unmistakable. It was the same minstrel who'd sung her a song of Nymeria in Kings’ Landing and pulled a coin from her ear. She’d never forgotten the song, or the unexpected kindness, and now she might have the chance to speak to him again. 

She stood up to get a better look, but what she saw made her sit back down abruptly. There at the harp, his silver hair braided away from his face, was Prince Rhaegar, the torchlight throwing the sharp lines of his cheekbones in stark relief as he sang. It was a song of lovers parted that made some of the ladies sniff back tears.

Lyanna did not feel sad, but she did feel something, apart from the private glee of discovering a secret. She wondered if anyone else knew that the Crown Prince dressed as a common minstrel on the Street of Seeds. Maybe she wasn't the only one discontent with the life they were born to. For the first time that day, she smiled.


	2. The Laughing Heart Tree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Eddard and Lyanna discuss her betrothal, and Rhaegar speaks to his closest friend about his father and his marriage. Lord Whent sponsors the largest tournament in living memory, and on the first day, Howland Reed is attacked by a group of squires. When Lyanna intervbenes, she has no idea that her actions will spark a chain of events that will change the face of Westeros.

**Winterfell 280 AC**

“I knew I'd find you here,” Eddard said, stepping into the still air of the godswood. Lyanna looked askance at him, before turning her face back to the heart tree. “Father said you’ve been spending a lot of your time riding; he's concerned for you.”

“Concerned I'll run off, more likely,” she said, crossing her arms over her chest. “If he was so worried about me, he might have asked my opinion before marrying me off.”

Eddard sat down beside her in the roots of one of the ancient weirwood trees, his back against the gnarled bark. “Robert is a good man, and he’s madly in love with you. I don't understand why you’re against such an advantageous match.”

Lyanna snorted. “I'm not an idiot, Ned. Everyone is talking about the bastard he's already fathered in the Vale. To hear Alysanne Hightower tell it, Robert’s the favored patron of half the brothels in Kings’ Landing.” Eddard opened his mouth and then closed it. “You see, you can't even deny it.”

“Plenty of young Lords visit brothels, Lyanna,” he said, but his voice was strained.

She raised her eyebrows. “Do you visit brothels then, Ned?” His cheeks colored. “I thought not.”

“Robert loves you. Once you are wed, I'm sure he will be faithful to you. He needs a woman’s hand.” At this, his sister laughed aloud.

“Love is sweet, Ned, but it won't change a man’s nature. And Robert doesn't love me. He hardly knows me. He loves the idea of me, maybe.”

Eddard didn't know what to say. He hated how right she was. Robert Baratheon was his best friend. More than anyone, Ned was aware of his flaws. But what could he do? Father had agreed to the betrothal, though he had requested to have the marriage postponed until after Lyanna's sixteenth nameday, nearly a year and a half away. Maybe something would change before then. “Did you hear the news? Lord Whent is hosting a tourney just before Harvesttide, with prizes twice as large as the ones at Lannisport. Father says we're all to go.”

She looked away, scowling. “I'm sure a proper lady wouldn't be interested in such a thing.” Ned sighed. There was no talking to her when she was like this. Deep in his heart, he agreed with her. What did it matter that she was a woman? If she wanted to learn to hunt and fight, and she was skilled enough, why shouldn't she be given training? But it was nothing he had any control over.

He stood, laying a hand on her shoulder. “I'm sorry, Lyanna.” She didn't answer, and he walked away, feeling worse than when arrived.

Lyanna sighed at her brother’s retreating back. Perhaps she shouldn't have been so harsh with him, but everything was… frustrating. It wasn't as if she didn't want to get married someday. The gods knew, Robert Baratheon was far from the worst she could have gotten, but the fact that she knew him, knew exactly what kind of man he was, somehow made it worse. She wouldn't be able to pretend. He claimed to love her, but she knew the truth. What Robert loved was a version of Lyanna Stark he’d created in his mind. She doubted he would trouble himself to discover the real her. Her father never had.

Despite her words to Eddard however, she was pleased to hear about the tournament. Even if she couldn't participate, they were fun to watch, and a good diversion from her troubles. Her mind traveled back to the last tournament six years ago, where she had first seen Rhaegar Targaryen compete. Though, not the first time she had seen him or heard him sing, she remembered with a smile. Since the night of the feast in Lannisport, she had thought of Prince Rhaegar often. It was silly of her, she knew, but she felt, in the core of her being, that if anyone would understand the frustrations and obstacles in her life, it would be him. 

Surely he would also be at the tournament. It was a shame he was already married to Elia Martell. Lyanna laughed at herself, a sharp bark of sound that echoed against the trees. Even if he hadn't been married, she was neither important nor beautiful enough to interest Rhaegar Targaryen. “Bet you he doesn't visit brothels,” she muttered to herself.

**Dragonstone 280 AC**

“He knows,” Rhaegar said, slamming his palm on the table in frustration. “There's no other reason for him to suddenly announce his intention to attend the tourney.”

“He doesn't _know_ ,” Arthur amended. “Or else he would already have accused you. But he may suspect. Your father is nothing if not paranoid, and having Varys perpetually whispering in his ear can't help matters. I warned you that no one would believe Lord Whent was rich enough to pull this off.”

Rhaegar shook his head. “He was the only one I was sure I could trust that had even close to enough prestige to be credible. Lords Lannister and Hightower are too fond of their own machinations,” he said, scowling, and then letting out a long, slow breath. “But it's no use pondering what might have been. The question is, how do we proceed?”

Arthur leaned back in his chair. “What can we do except go on as planned, with an extra measure of caution, perhaps? You might leave Elia and Rhaenys here, lest your father thinks to take hostages.”

“I fear that would raise more suspicion,” Rhaegar replied. “Besides, Elia's only just now well enough to be out and about. She wouldn't forgive me if I told her to stay home.”

“Are things between you improved?” Rhaegar looked away, his shoulders slumped.

“It’s not as if I expected to marry for love,” he said, “But Elia will hardly speak to me. It's been worse since Rhaenys was born. The birth was hard on her, but she’s rejected all of my attempts at comfort. Oswell thinks she has a paramour.”

“It would take a brave man, or a very foolish one, to cuckold Your Grace,” Arthur said. “But if you think that's true, you could always take a lover of your own. Perhaps if you stopped trying to court her, your wife might find she missed it.”

“I think your romantic advice leaves something to be desired, Arthur,” Rhaegar said with a wry chuckle. “But I can't say anyone has caught my interest of late, in any case. The business with my father has taken up all of my time.”

**Harrenhal, 281 AC**

The sun was shining and the air was the warmest it had been in years. Wildflowers bloomed in the meadows, and people were saying that Spring had come. Even the gloomy ruins of the castle in the distance had gained an air of picturesque romance. Lyanna found herself humming as she walked down the road to the tourney field with some of her mother's handmaidens. At least, until they heard a commotion up ahead. 

“That's Howland Reed,” said one of the ladies, a hand held to her mouth. At a few paces closer, Lyanna could see that she was right. The crannogman was being hassled by some boys, squires barely older than Benjen. As she watched, one of them knocked Howland to the ground. Anger made her heart pound. Before she knew what she was doing, she’d grabbed a tourney sword off a nearby rack and rushed forward.

‘That's my father’s man you’re kicking!” she shouted, bashing one of the squires, his device claiming him as beholden to House Frey, across the back. He rolled away with a startled yell, and she whacked another, wearing the sigil of the porcupine, across the shins. He tried to retaliate, so she jabbed him in the gut and then made for his head. He ran away with a scream, and she turned to the final boy, whose tunic was emblazoned with a pitchfork. The squire took one look at her expression and dashed away as fast as his legs could carry him. 

Lyanna let out a relieved breath and dropped the sword to check on Howland. He sat up, wincing. “My Lady, you shouldn't have involved yourself in that.”

“How could anyone stand by and watch such a thing? Those boys should be ashamed.” She reached her hand down to him, pulling him to his feet with little difficulty. “Come on, let’s get you cleaned up.” She helped Howland back to the Stark tents, and gave him a cool cloth to wipe his face. He had a split lip and the beginnings of a spectacular black eye, but luckily, there was no serious damage.

She was just wrapping his sprained wrist when Brandon barged in with his usual lack of decorum. “Who's your friend, Lyanna? Are you the one who beat him up?” he asked, guffawing at his own joke. She rolled her eyes.

“This is Howland Reed, one of father’s bannermen. Some squires were giving him trouble.”

“I take it you intervened?” Ned said as he pushed through the tent flap as well. “I heard one of the ladies talking.”

She rounded on him with a scowl. “Would you have rather I did nothing? I may be a woman, but I won't stand for pointless cruelty.”

“Easy, you two,” Brandon said. “I think you did the right thing, Lyanna, but I hope Father doesn't hear of it. It’ll give him an apoplexy.”

“I'll defend the lady’s honor to Lord Stark,” Howland said stolidly, though he was trembling at the thought of it.

“Thank you, but that won't be necessary,” Lyanna said, pursing her lips. “Will you be coming to the feast?” Howland’s eyes went wide and he shook his head. She frowned, hands on her hips. “You’re just as noble as the rest of us. You’ve a right to attend, and there's no better way to get back at people like that than to show them you aren't cowed.”

“But m’lady, I have no proper clothes,” he said in a tone of desperation. It was true that what he was wearing was torn and covered in mud, and it had hardly been fine to begin with.

“Don't worry about that,” Brandon said. “You look to be about Benjen’s size. I’m sure we can find something.”

***********************

The four Stark siblings went down to the feast together with Howland, the Lord and Lady of Winterfell having gone ahead. Though the wind howled through the broken towers above, on the ground, the mood was festive. Colored lanterns hung on ropes suspended above the tables, and streamers and garlands of flowers marked off a large clear space of grass for dancing. The food was varied, and the wine flowed freely, though Lyanna was careful not to drink too much. For several reasons, she wanted her mind to be clear. 

“Those are the squires,” she said quietly to Benjen, pointing out the sulky group of boys in the corner.

“You really did a number on them, Lya. You need to be careful.” She turned to him with a raised eyebrow and he shook his head. “I don't mean they didn't deserve it. But boys like that will try to retaliate if they can.”

“Can't we do something? The knights they serve ought to have taught them better manners.”

Benjen twisted his mouth in thought. “Howland could challenge their masters in the lists to avenge his honor. If that doesn't shame them into acting, nothing will. What about it, Ser Reed? I could lend you some spare armor and a horse.” Howland goggled at him, his eyes wide as saucers. “No need to decide right away.” A moment later, the musicians stopped playing.

“Looks like Prince Rhaegar is going to play something,” Eddard said, in a tone of boredom. Lyanna knew better, of course, her brother had been staring at Ashara Dayne all night. Still, she looked up immediately and saw that he was correct. Rhaegar had seated himself in front of the huge floor harp, his pale hair in shining contrast to the black and red of his house colors. Now she could admit, at least to herself, that he was handsome, more so, even, than he had been at sixteen, tall and broad-shouldered, yet still graceful, with sharp, elegant features. She remembered his indigo eyes and shivered.

His fingers rested on the strings a moment; Lyanna fancied she could see his chest rise as he took a deep breath, and then he began to play. The melody started out slow and peaceful, and Rhaegar’s clear voice intertwined in perfect harmony, singing a song of Summerhall in days of peace. Lyanna found herself filled with intense longing for a time she had never known. The song traveled over the years, reaching a climax at the night Rhaegar himself was born, the flames and tears and terror. Finally, it ended as a lonely ruin in the wilderness. When the last notes faded away, there were tears streaming down her face.

“Look at you, suddenly overcome with tender emotions. I guess you really are a girl after all,” Benjen said with a snort. She picked up the wine pitcher and poured it over his head before walking away. Unbeknownst to her, across the room, Rhaegar was laughing. 

***********************

“I've never seen that device before,” Rhaegar said, leaning on the edge of the royal box and peering intently at the tourney field. He wasn't scheduled for any bouts until later in the afternoon, but he would rather have been down in the lists instead of stuck in tense proximity to his father. The King was a shadow of his former self, stooped and gaunt, his darting, mad eyes bloodshot and shining with a perpetual fever. Elia had made her excuses due to her delicate health, and Rhaegar didn't blame her. She'd never forgiven Aerys for saying their newborn daughter ‘smelled Dornish’. But the Crown Prince did not have that luxury. He turned his attention back to the knight preparing to joust, a heart tree with a laughing face painted on his shield. His armor was mismatched and fit poorly, but he sat on his horse like he was born in the saddle.

Oswell Whent, one of the Kingsguard and the son of the Lord hosting the tourney, came to stand next to Rhaegar. “Oh, Father told me about him. Apparently he's challenged three knights for the honor of Howland Reed. He's a bit short isn't he? Maybe he's another crannogman.” The mystery knight did seem a bit smaller than average, and he held his lance as if it were too heavy for him.

“Maybe so,” Rhaegar agreed. “What slight is he supposed to be avenging?”

“You’ll love it,” Oswell said, grinning, “Their squires roughed him up. I heard one of the northern girls caught them at it and walloped all three with a tourney sword.”

“Good for her,” Rhaegar said. “Perhaps it was the same girl who dumped the wine on one of the Stark boys last night.” Then there was no more time for talking, the combatants charged. There was a loud thunk and clank, but it was not the Knight of the Laughing Heart Tree who ended up in the dirt. “Look at that,” Rhaegar said, smiling with satisfaction as the stranger knight slid from his mount to pick up the shield of his opponent, his rightful prize. He led his mount, a stolid chestnut, back to the end of the lane and mounted with ease, leaning halfway out of the saddle to grab his lance. The next opponent, a much larger man wearing the heraldry of House Blount, approached on a great roan destrier. 

“Things don't look good for our mystery knight,” Oswell said. “Ser Blount could eat him for supper.”

Rhaegar pursed his lips. “I think you underestimate him. Ten dragons says the Knight of the Laughing Heart Tree is victorious.”

“All right,” Oswell agreed with a grin. “At least I know you're good for it.” The two men looked back at the field with renewed interest, and the flag dropped. The horses raced forward, and as they watched, the mystery knight slipped nearly sideways in the saddle to avoid his opponent’s lance, but still somehow managed to strike him high on his right shoulder. Already leaning over in attempt to reach, he was overbalanced by his own armor, tipping sideways to the ground and barely avoiding being dragged by the stirrup.

“Ha! I don't even begrudge you the win,” Oswell said. “He sticks to his saddle like a Dothraki, and if I didn't know better, I’d think he learned some of his trucks from watching you.”

Rhaegar smiled. “I'm sure I'm not the only one who's ever dodged a lance against a heavier opponent. But you're right about his horsemanship. I'd like to find out who he is and give him a job. Who’s his final opponent?”

“One of the younger Freys. He should be no challenge for your new favorite,” Oswell said with a chuckle, and it proved to be true. Just a few moments later, the Knight of the Laughing Heart Tree had collected the swords and armor of all three of his opponents, and now they came begging for their return. Rhaegar wondered what he would ask for. Money, perhaps, or a position would be the obvious choices.

“Teach your squires better manners,” said the stranger knight, his voice, obviously not his real one, booming almost comically from his helmet. “If they are punished for their shameful treatment of Howland Reed, I will be content.” The Crown Prince raised his eyebrows as the three other knights swore that they would and then received their belongings.

“Nothing for himself? Not even you're that chivalrous,” Oswell said, punching him in the shoulder. Rhaegar had nothing to say to that.

“Rhaegar!” The King’s voice was as harsh as raven. “This stranger, this Knight of the Laughing Heart Tree, I am sure he colludes with my enemies. You will bring him to me.”

“Of course, Sire,” the Prince replied, bowing his head, but he felt like cursing. He turned his head back to the tourney field and let out a relieved breath. The mystery knight was already gone. “Come on,” Rhaegar beckoned to Oswell and they hurried down the stairs out of the stands.

“You aren't seriously going to turn him over to your father?” Oswell whispered once they were out of earshot.

“No,” Rhaegar said, with a roll of his eyes. “I'd like to warn him off. And I'll offer him a position at Dragonstone, if he doesn't have one. You search toward the castle, I'll go toward the river.” Oswell nodded and the two men split off. Rhaegar pushed through the crowds; the rows between the tents were so packed that no one noticed the Crown Prince was walking among them. In a way, it was good because it meant they were neither fleeing his imagined wrath nor vying for his attention, but they _were_ impeding his progress.

Finally, the crowd parted, and he jogged forward. He could see a small hill ahead, a promontory perched above the river and frowned with scraggly trees, and on it, an armor-clad form with a familiar helm. He quickened his pace in case the unknown knight might try to flee his pursuit, and as he crested the hill, Rhaegar saw the knight remove his helmet.

Or rather, _her_ helmet. The Knight of the Laughing Heart Tree was a woman. He stopped in his tracks, stunned, but she had seen him. “Prince Rhaegar!” she said, her voice rising in a startled squeak. 

**********************

Of all the possible outcomes of her reckless decision, the last one Lyanna expected was to be caught by the Prince, the man who, under any other circumstances, she would have most wanted the chance to speak to. Just her luck. “Please don’t tell your father,” she stammered. “Or my father. Or anyone for that matter.” He blinked at her, and then, he smiled. Her heart thudded alarmingly.

“I didn’t come to haul you in for questioning, but to congratulate you. I was going to offer you a position in my household, but I suppose your Lord father might object. I’ve rarely seen finer horsemanship.” Heat surged to her cheeks, and her fingers, which had been trying in vain to reach the clasp to her breastplate, went still.

“Thank you, Your Grace. It means a great deal coming from you. Because you’re such a fine jouster, I mean.” She wanted to clap her hand over her mouth; she’d basically just admitted she was infatuated with him. But either he didn’t notice or he was pleased by that knowledge because he was still smiling.

“You look like you need some assistance,” he said, indicating her struggling with her armor. He moved toward her, and before she could make so much as a noise of protest, he had undone the buckles with deft fingers. “There you are.”

“This is terribly embarrassing,” she muttered, sliding off the breastplate and pauldrons. “But thank you, again,” she said, turning to face him.

He shrugged, though he had a strange sort of expression on his face. “That’s why knights generally have squires. You shouldn’t have worn the breastplate without a gambeson. You’re going to have some nasty scrapes and bruises.”

She scowled, crossing her arms over her chest. Her shoulders ached. “I did the best I could on short notice, but my brothers’ gear was either too long or too tight.”

“You’ve had no training then,” he said with a raised eyebrow. “I thought maybe your father had taught you on the sly.” Lyanna snorted at the ridiculousness of that statement, and Rhaegar smiled again. “It only makes what you accomplished more impressive. I assume you were the one who gave the squires a beating as well?”

“They deserved it,” she said, daring him to disagree.

“They certainly did. Howland Reed is likely never to forget your actions,” he said, and then his eyes gained a glint of playfulness. “I saw you last night at the feast as well. You dumped a jug of wine on one of the Starks. I suppose he must have deserved it too. Friend of yours, I take it?”

“Little brother,” she muttered, going hot at the memory. Had Rhaegar seen her crying too? Would the humiliations never cease? “You really aren’t going to tell anyone?”

“On my honor,” he said, placing his hand over his heart. “The other reason I came after you was to warn you to take care. My father has some notions that you are an enemy of the Crown, so I was going to advise you not to publicly wear that device again, but it seems that particular warning won’t be needed.” Lyanna blanched. If the Mad King thought she was plotting against him, he might even execute her. Rhaegar took her hand. Her heart was beating so fast she was sure she was going to expire on the spot. “I didn’t intend to frighten you. I’m sure the King will forget all about it soon enough. He has plenty of real threats to worry about.” The Prince’s eyes fell on the shield that was leaning against the tree. “If you’ll allow me, I’ll take the shield to him, and say I found it abandoned. That ought to satisfy his temper.”

“Would you?” she said, her breath coming out in a rush. “I wasn’t sure what I was going to do with it, anyway.” 

He released her hand, to her mingled disappointment and relief, stooping to pick up the shield from the ground and tucking it under his arm. “But you’ll have to do something for me in return.”

Lyanna’s heart raced again as she wondered what in the world he could want. Nothing she could imagine was anything she would consider. “What is it?”

“Come to the feast tonight and honor me with a dance,” he said, the corner of his mouth tilting upward in a half-smile. “And tell me your name.” Now her heart felt like it had dropped into her feet. There were a thousand things wrong with that suggestion.

She meant to tell him he was crazy, but what came out of her mouth was, “A-all right. I’m Lyanna. Lyanna Stark.” 

“Then I’ll see you tonight, Lady Lyanna,” he said, and he turned and strode down then hill. Lyanna sat heavily in the grass. What had she just agreed to?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank everyone so much for the overflow of great comments and kudos. I won't be able to keep up this pace of updates for long, as I have a job and family, but I hope you enjoy this chapter. 
> 
> And if you're into spotify, I made a playlist (in no particular order) for this work. https://open.spotify.com/user/mizukitsune-us/playlist/6qdKHkobEmdTuZZs7PHBtL


	3. A Dance and a Promise

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna has her dance with Prince Rhaegar, and finds something more awaiting her in the ruins of Harrenhal. Rhaegar makes promises, and now he must figure out how to keep them.

Lyanna had worried what reason she might give to attend the feast that night, as she knew her parents hadn't planned on going, but a solution came from an unexpected place almost as soon as she returned to their camp. 

“It seems you’ve made a friend,” her mother said, smiling. “Lady Ashara Dayne has requested your presence at the banquet tonight. She also said Eddard might attend, if he wishes.” Ned turned red as a radish, which provided enough distraction for Lyanna to work through her own confusion. She’d never been introduced to Ashara, though of course, she’d seen her from afar. But it didn't take a maester to make the connection. Ashara’s brother, Arthur Dayne, was Prince Rhaegar’s closest friend. Obviously, he’d arranged the situation so she would have no excuse to refuse him. Lyanna wasn't sure whether to be annoyed or impressed.

Either way, when evening fell, she was dressed in her best gown, her hair was fixed in an elaborate updo, and her mother placed a silver comb her in hair, the enameled winter roses a perfect match to her blue dress. “But Mother, that's your comb.”

Lyarra smiled. “I know winter roses are your favorite flower. You've grown up so much in the past year. I want you to have it.” Lyanna threw her arms around her mother’s neck.

“Thank you. I love it.” Lyarra laughed and shoved her towards the tent flap.

“Go on then,” she said. “Ned's already waiting.” Lyanna found her brother pacing outside the tent, his hands clasped in front of him as if in prayer.

“You’d think we were off to fight a troop of wildlings, not eat a meal. Why so nervous, Ned? I heard you already danced with her last night.”

“I did,” he said weakly. “But now, she’ll expect me to speak to her. I have no idea what to say.” He offered Lyanna his elbow as they made their way back to the ruins of Harrenhal. 

“You didn’t talk during the entire dance?” she said, rolling her eyes. He shook his head, looking like he might be ill any minute. “By the ancestors, Ned. Women aren’t mysterious beings, they’re people. Ask her how she likes the tourney, who she thinks is going to win. Ask her if she likes to ride. It’s not difficult.” He looked at her skeptically, but after a moment, he nodded.

“I didn’t know you were friends with her,” he said slowly. “Why didn’t you introduce us?” That was a very good question.

“Er… I only just met her, this morning,” Lyanna lied, wide-eyed, but Ned accepted the answer with no indication of suspicion. 

“I wondered where you were. Benjen wouldn’t say.” She let out a little sigh of relief. She knew she could trust her youngest brother to keep her secrets most of the time, but if Ned or Brandon really pressed him? Luckily, there was no time to discuss the subject further; they were close to the castle, and Lyanna could see a young lady approaching who could only be Ashara. She had hair the color of night and striking violet eyes. The Daynes had Targaryen blood in their line, though so did many other noble houses in Westeros.

“Make sure you tell her how much you like her gown,” she muttered to Ned, nudging his side. His face was pale but he nodded.

“Lady Lyanna, Ser Eddard, I’m so glad you could join us,” she said, grinning widely. 

“You… look… beautiful,” Ned said, his eyes nearly as round as coins. “I mean, your gown is lovely,” he added, his cheeks going quite red. Lyanna suppressed an urge to smack her hand to her forehead.

“You’re looking rather handsome this evening as well,” Ashara answered, her cheeks dimpling with humor. “And you, Lady Lyanna. That’s a beautiful comb in your hair.”

“Thank you,” she answered. “Nothing so fine as yours, but it is my favorite flower.” Lyanna shifted with restless energy. Though she was not as nervous as Ned, the idea of dancing with Rhaegar left her feeling unbalanced and overwhelmed. It was something out of her wildest dreams, yet she couldn’t imagine what he meant by it. Perhaps she was overthinking things. Small talk made her anxious.

“Let us go in before my brother and the rest of the Kingsguard eats all the food,” Ashara said cheerfully. “Although, I was wondering, Lady Lyanna, if I might have a word with you before we entered the feast?” Lyanna nodded despite her confusion, and Ned was surprisingly not too oblivious to walk out of earshot.

“I hope you’ll pardon me for prying,” Ashara said, her face suddenly tense, “but is there something going on between you and my brother?”

Lyanna blinked. “What? You mean Arthur? No,” she said, surprised enough by the question to be truthful.

Ashara pursed her lips. “Then why?…” Her eyes widened in comprehension, and Lyanna wondered if perhaps she’d made a mistake, but Ashara smiled, obviously relieved. “I won’t tell a soul, I swear. I was worried that if Arthur had feelings for you he might end up breaking his vows to the Kingsguard and with the King so… well, you know. It could be dangerous for our whole family. But if things stand as I think they do, we might talk more later about it. Your brother is going to wonder what we’re about.”

Lyanna swallowed, not sure what to think. Ashara was one of Elia Martell’s handmaidens, but who knew where her loyalty truly lay. “Ned really is quite taken with you,” she offered, hoping to change the subject.

Ashara smiled again. “Ned? Is that what you call him? He is a quiet one, but he seems to have a good heart,” she said thoughtfully. “Let’s go in.” They linked elbows and entered the feasting hall. Ned, waiting just inside the doorway, looked relieved to see them, and they sat just one table down from the dais, with younger scions of House Martell and Lannister. The King was not present, and Rhaegar sat alone at the high table with some of the Kingsguard. This feast seemed to be intended for the younger generation. Lyanna couldn’t help but let her eyes stray to the Crown Prince. Was it her imagination that he met her gaze and smiled? After that, she tried to keep her face pointed mostly toward her plate, though her mental agitation had dulled her appetite.

“Aren’t you feeling well, Lyanna?” Ned asked. His cheeks were flushed. She supposed he’d been so nervous that he’d already drank too much wine.

“I’m fine. Just a bit tired,” she said, offering him a wan smile. The musicians in the corner, meanwhile, had started to play, which meant, she supposed, that the time was near. Perhaps Ned had the right idea; she gulped down her goblet and refilled it. 

“Would you care for a dance, Ser Eddard?” Ashara asked, smiling sweetly at him. He stammered his acceptance, and she took him by the hand, leading him out onto the floor. Lyanna couldn’t help but smile at his awestruck expression, but she was glad to see that this time, he appeared to be speaking. 

“They make a charming couple,” said a voice beside her. She nearly jumped out of her seat; Prince Rhaegar was standing just at her elbow. “I’ll have to tell Arthur to nudge his sister in that direction.”

She gaped at him, her surprise at his words overcoming the shock of his sudden presence. “You would really do that? Ned is half in love with her already.”

“Why not?” he said with quick grin. “I think people should have the chance at a happy marriage, don’t you?” Lyanna was sure this comment had a deeper meaning than it seemed, but she didn’t know whether he was referring to himself or if he was aware of her own disappointing betrothal. “In any case, I’ve come to collect my reward. May I have this dance, Lady Stark?”

“Lady Stark is my mother,” she said, frowning up at him, but he smiled, his eyes dancing with humor. 

“I will agree to call you Lyanna if you will call me by my given name,” he said. He probably assumed she would be too shy to do such a thing, but she had no problem calling his bluff. 

“Fine. I would love to dance with you, Rhaegar,” she answered, putting her hand in the one he held out to her. However, he appeared more pleased than shocked by her familiarity as he led her out to the dance floor. She hoped that Ned would be too addled by his own partner to notice hers. Not that she wasn’t acutely aware of Rhaegar, of the strength and gentleness in his hands, and the calluses on his fingers from the strings of his harp. Though this dance wasn’t a particularly intimate one, she caught of whiff of his scent, leather and polishing oil, and something else, like the incense in the Great Sept at King’s Landing. The Starks did not follow the Seven, but they had visited the church, and she thought of it now, its soaring heights and the sunlight splitting into a rainbow of colors.

“How are you feeling? I was a bit worried you’d be too sore to attend,” he asked quietly, with concern she was fairly sure was genuine.

“My shoulders ache, but I think I’ll recover. And you? I saw you take a hit in your bout with Prince Llewin this afternoon.”

“You did watch then?” he asked, his eyes lighting up. “Unlike you, I was wearing adequate padding. It hardly hurt, and Llewin ended up on the ground, so it was worth it.”

“I always watch y- the jousts, if I can,” she finished lamely. He grinned.

“Really? I had no idea you were as much of a fan of me as I am of the Knight of the Laughing Heart Tree. I won ten dragons off Ser Oswell betting on him this afternoon.”

Her cheeks felt like they were on fire. “I saw you compete in Lannisport. It was the first tournament I’d ever seen. I admit, I was impressed, but then, everyone was.” She paused, and then decided she might as well throw in all her cards. “But I preferred your singing. It reminded me of a minstrel I saw once in King’s Landing who pulled a dragon out of my ear.”

Rhaegar laughed, loud enough that a few of the other dancers looked over in interest. “I remember you. You asked me to sing about Nymeria. It’s not a common request. Of course, I thought you were a bunch of poor little urchins, not young nobles sneaking out of the castle.”

Now Lyanna laughed at the memory. “Brandon was always getting me into trouble. He wanted to see those mummers, and Ned followed like an over-anxious parent. ”

“I don’t know, you seem perfectly capable of getting into trouble on your own,” he said. She might have protested, but the song ended and he led her back to the table. “You’re an interesting woman, Lyanna Stark. I’m glad I got the chance to dance with you.” He brought her hand up to his mouth, brushing her knuckles with his lips. She froze, incapable of movement, speech, or even thought, and he smiled and walked away. It felt like hours before her heartbeat returned to normal. 

She danced a few more times, with Oswell Whent once, who complimented her sword arm with a wry smile, and once with Arthur Dayne himself. The Sword of the Morning seemed a kind and thoughtful sort of man, but he didn’t say much, except to remark that she might “give him a run for his money,” the ‘him' obviously meaning Rhaegar. She tried not to read too much into it. The night was growing late and she was exhausted. She didn’t see Ned or Ashara anywhere, but she hoped they were enjoying themselves. Not too much, though, her father would be furious if they created a scandal. Lyanna yawned, drained her goblet, and decided to walk back to the tent on her own. It wasn’t that far. 

As she exited the feasting hall, she saw the full moon rising over the castle. It called to her, as it often did. Her father said it was the wolf blood in their veins. She walked a little ways off the path, further into the less occupied parts of the ruins, and as she did so, she heard singing. Familiar singing.

“Wind of the summer night,  
Way under woodbine creep,  
Fold, fold, thy pinions light,  
She sleeps, my lady sleeps,  
She sleeps, my lady sleeps.” 

Lyanna went toward the sound as if drawn by the hand, and found Prince Rhaegar sitting above her in the corner of a ruined wall, looking up at the moon as his fingers strummed the lute. “That was lovely,” she said. He nearly dropped his instrument. 

“Lyanna!” he said, passing his hand over his eyes. “For a moment, I thought the rumors about the ghost of Harrenhal were true.” Then he smiled down at her. “Will you come up?” he asked, leaning down with his hand outstretched. It seemed terribly inadvisable, and therefore, she did not hesitate. He pulled her nearly into his lap. “I’m afraid there isn’t much room.” It was true that even sitting across from him with her knees drawn up in front of her, they were still almost touching. 

“I’m all right,” she said breathlessly. “I didn’t expect to find you out here.”

“They hardly need me to preside over their revelries,” he said, laughing softly. “I wouldn’t have gone at all, only I had an important appointment to keep.” She pretended not to know what he was referring to and he grinned and continued, "I’ve been coming here every night. I ought to tell you that a lady probably shouldn’t wander alone after dark, but I can hardly complain about the company.”

“I’m glad I’m not disturbing you,” she said, though she wanted to say more. She wanted to ask why he was so interested in her company, but she was afraid to know the answer, not even sure what she would prefer to hear.

“No. I’m pleased I have the chance to speak with you alone.” He paused, as if considering his words carefully. “I wanted to tell you how lovely you look tonight, though you were just as beautiful this morning in your stolen armor,” he said, with the hint of a smile. “I would like to have the chance to know you better, but I’m afraid that’s not likely to happen anytime soon.”

“You are a married man,” she said, though she wasn’t sure how she got the words out, with her heart stuck somewhere in her throat. 

He laughed, hollow and mirthless. “I did not choose her, my father did. Although, we might have been happier if she didn’t despise me. And now the Kingsguard tells me she has taken a lover, so I assume she doesn’t think much of our vows.” He blew a sharp breath out his nose. “And what of you? I heard you are betrothed to Robert Baratheon. Do you love him?”

“No,” she said sharply, crossing her arms and shaking her head. Even the mention of her betrothal made her temper flare. “What do you want, Rhaegar?” His eyes fixed on her, and the moonlight caught in their indigo depths.

“I want…” He leaned forward, and before she could react, he was kissing her. It was gentle, but full of promise. Her lips felt scalded. “Impossible things,” he murmured against her mouth, and in that moment, she wanted impossible things as well, especially if they included more kissing. She might have even said so, only she heard a voice in the distance unmistakably calling her name.

“That’s Ned,” she squeaked. “I have to go.” He swung her down to the ground without delay.

“Goodnight, Lyanna. If you chance to come wandering here again, one of the Kingsgaurd will make sure you aren’t troubled on your way.” She couldn’t even speak, her thoughts were so muddled, so she simply waved and ran back toward the entrance to the hall. As she left, she heard Rhaegar begin to sing again.

“Dreams of the summer night,  
Tell her, her lover keeps,  
Watch, while in slumber’s light,  
She sleeps, my lady sleeps,  
She sleeps, my lady sleeps.”

Lyanna couldn’t help but feel now that the song was meant for her, and it made her heart light in her chest. Her mind was a cacophony of thoughts. Not that rumors from King’s Landing often made it all the way to Winterfell, but she’d had no idea Rhaegar was unhappy in his marriage. If Elia was truly breaking their vows, would he set her aside? Did that mean anything? Lyanna could hardly let herself hope.

Thankfully, Ned was only standing at the door, looking rumpled and confused, but not yet alarmed. “Where were you?” he asked, holding out his elbow. “No one in the hall had seen you for a while. I thought you might have gone back to the tents alone, but I’m glad I thought to check.”

“I was going to, but I decided to look for you first,” she said, hoping that was convincing. “Where did you run off to?”

His cheeks flamed crimson. “I was er… talking to Ashara.” Lyanna laughed, but considering what she’d just been doing, she decided it was a bad time to tease him.

“I’m glad you two are getting along,” she said, which was true. She wanted Ned to be happy, and furthermore, she had a feeling that Ashara Dayne would be a helpful friend to have in the future, wherever it led.

*********************

It took her two days to work up the courage to take Rhaegar up on his offer. Of course, she’d been watching him compete, fighting in the melee side by side with Oswell and Arthur. Robert, Ned and Brandon were also there, and her heart was in her throat wondering what would happen as they defeated foes left and right. But what she feared most never occurred. 

Brandon and Ned were taken out by John Connington and Gerrold Hightower, and Robert bested them with his great hammer only to be felled himself by Llewin Martell. Llewin then went on to knock Oswell Whent out of the running, but was defeated by Rhaegar, leaving only he and Arthur standing. For the second time in her life, Lyanna saw the Prince defeated by the Sword of the Morning, but it was a spectacular duel.

As for the jousts, Rhaegar continued to win all his bouts, including one against her own brother Brandon, but had yet to face a serious challenge. There were still five days remaining in the tournament, and as the end grew closer the competition would only be more fierce. In the afternoon, the Prince faced Ser Yohn Royce, a reportedly excellent jouster and a distant relative of the Starks. Rhaegar had his helm knocked off by his opponent’s lance, but he still managed to unhorse him, to general amazement. Lyanna decided she had to see him, if only out of concern for his injury, she told herself.

But when she finally slipped out of her tent, grateful for once that, as the only daughter, she didn't have to share, her mind went back to the kiss. Robert had kissed her once. It had been awkward and wet, and she had decided the whole experience was not one she had a particular desire to repeat. She had not felt that way when Rhaegar had kissed her, and she wasn't sure if it was due to the character of the kiss, the man, or a change in herself. Perhaps a bit of all three. 

The camp was quiet, the remaining revelers having mostly adjourned to their own tents, so when she heard the sound of a footfall behind her, she jumped and spun around, ready to fight. But down the path she beheld a white cloak, and when the man wearing it gave her a cheery wave, she realized it was Oswell Whent. She waved back, feeling a strange mix of relief and embarrassment. Rhaegar hadn't been jesting about sending the Kingsguard to look after her. She quickened her pace, passing by the archway that led to the feasting hall and into the ruins. It was quiet today, no singing to guide her way, and for a moment she feared he’d already gone, but no. He sat in the same corner he had two nights before, but his hands were folded behind his head. Was he asleep?

“Rhaegar?” she said quietly. He sat up, blinking and looking around as if he wasn't sure what he'd heard. When he spotted her, his eyes widened.

“Lyanna,” he breathed, holding out his hand. “I wasn’t sure you would come back.” She took his hand and once again was yanked upward into his lap. This time, she didn't scoot away, and after a long moment of staring into each other's eyes, Rhaegar’s arms settled around her waist. The air around them felt heavy with tension. She didn't know what she was doing, only that she wanted to be close to him.

“I saw you were injured in your joust today. I was worried.” There was a scrape along his jaw and a purpling bruise across his cheekbone. An impulse seized her; she reached up and touched his cheek with light fingers. His eyes closed and he reached up, pressing his hand over hers. Time came to a temporary stop. Lyanna’s heartbeat thundered in her ears. She could feel the rasp of stubble under her palm as his cheek moved against her hand, and then he kissed her fingertips, sending a shiver all the way to her toes.

“I do appreciate your concern, but this is nothing. It looks much worse than it feels.” His eyes opened and he smiled, lacing his fingers through hers. “Were you really worried about me?”

“A bit,” she said, and then she sighed. “Perhaps I just wanted an excuse to see you.” His widening grin was enough of a reward to erase the embarrassment of her admission. “You aren't singing tonight?”

“I suppose I'm in a pensive mood. I was lost in thought until you arrived. Now I'm just lost.” His eyes glittered playfully, but she had a sense there was more truth to his words than his tone would suggest.

“Hmm,” she said, her face going hot. “And what were you thinking about?” There was a moment of pause; she sensed he was debating with himself. The tension went out of his limbs as he let out a slow breath. A decision had been made. 

“I was thinking,” he said, his arms tightening around her so that she was pulled against his chest. He was solid and warm, and his scent was all around her. It was somehow both soothing and invigorating. “I wondered what might have happened if I had stood up to my father long ago and said I would not marry the woman he chose for me. I realized he probably would have had me tried for treason and exiled me from Westeros.” He laughed before continuing. “Then I suppose I would have become a Braavosi sellsword, and having heard of the beauty of a certain fierce northern girl, I would have rode in and carried you off like the Dothraki do their brides. It was terribly ignoble of imaginary me.”

Lyanna wasn’t sure that was more ignoble than sneaking around at night to see each other, but at the moment, it didn’t seem terribly important. “I don’t think I’d mind that so much. So long as I got to have my own horse,” she said, grinning up at him, but his expression was serious, his eyes dark and intent.

“I would give you anything you asked of me, if I could figure out how to manage it without throwing the realm into chaos.” There it was, the truth of his intentions, or at least his desires, laid out plain. It frightened Lyanna, the gravity of his words, but not half so much as it thrilled her. He cared for her, as she'd no right to hope that he would. “I cannot ask you to be with me, or wait for me, but if you would… I swear, I will find a way,” he said roughly.

Her heart swelled. “Rhaegar, I… want to. But I’m sure how much choice I have in the matter. I am promised to marry Robert on my sixteenth nameday, and that’s only a little over a year away.”

He nodded. “Neither of us have been gifted with many choices, but I am the most free to move, and so I will do what I can.” His eyes were far away, seeing into a future she could hardly imagine. After a long moment of silence, he looked back down at her. “There is one thing you can do for me.”

In a part of her mind, Lyanna knew she had reached a dangerous juncture, because whatever it was, she wanted to give it to him. “What is it?” she asked, her heart fluttering madly. 

“I’d like to have a token of my lady’s favor, to take with me into battle,” he said, his mouth quirking into a half-smile. “When I defeat my opponents in the joust, I would do it for you.”

Lyanna was aware that it was a merely symbolic gesture. No one would know, except them, and yet, somehow that made it all the more important. She pulled a handkerchief out of her sleeve, the kind of thing that young ladies carried especially for this purpose, dove gray in color, with a white wolf in the center and her name embroidered in blue thread at one corner. “Will you keep it with you?” she asked as she pressed it into his hands.

“Always,” he said, and she felt the promise echoing into her bones. This time, when he kissed her, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him back. Judging by the dazed expression on his face when she left, she gave as good as she got.

*******************

The next morning, Rhaegar threaded the handkerchief through his fingers, frowning as Arthur gave him the bad news that he had unfortunately already expected. “Most of the Lords are unwilling to make a move against the King. They still think his madness can be used to their advantage. House Martell is split. Some of them are excited by the notion of Elia as Queen, but Prince Llewin is advocating for caution, since he’s aware of your marital problems. The Lannisters are remaining neutral, as expected, and therefore, so are the Baratheons. House Tyrell would declare for you, if you made a move, but the Greyjoys are only looking at us for potential signs of weakness.“

“And we don’t dare approach Lord Stark or Lord Arryn without something more concrete to offer. The rest of the North and the Riverlands will follow their lead.” Rhaegar finished with a hollow laugh. “There a certain irony to be had in the fact that if I were unwed, I could offer the Starks an alliance via marriage, and make their Lord feel like I was doing him a favor. When the truth is much the opposite.”

“You really are serious about the Stark girl?” Arthur said wonderingly. “I thought you’d merely decided to take my advice about giving your wife a taste of her own medicine.”

Rhaegar sighed. “If that was the case, it would certainly make things less difficult.” He leaned his head into his hand, the fabric of Lyanna’s handkerchief soft against his cheek. It smelled faintly of roses. “At first it was only that she was interesting, strong and clever and straightforward. The kind of woman I’d read about in stories, but never met, and now… It’s taken everything in me not to run away with her in my arms and damn the rest of the world to the seven hells.”

Arthur grinned. “You’re in love with her. I know it’s not the best of circumstances, but I can’t help but be pleased to see something shaking up your dour mood of late. What does your young lady have to say on the matter?”

Rhaegar remembered the way she’d kissed him last night and felt the back of his neck grow hot. “She… returns my feelings. But she is pledged to Robert Baratheon. They are to be married sometime late next year.”

“That doesn’t give you long to act. And what of Elia and the child she carries? Is there any chance it is yours after all?” She’d only told him of her pregnancy just before the tournament, but it had been months since they’d been together.

“A very small one,” Rhaegar admitted. “I doubt it will change my wife’s feelings toward me, either way, but I suppose it might change the options available to me.”

Arthur nodded. “If the babe isn’t yours, it wouldn’t be difficult have your marriage annulled, but that will alienate the Martells. Not to mention that Robert will be furious if you steal his fiancé from right under his nose. And what of your prophecy? It used to be all you talked about.” Rhaegar had once believed, as had his great-uncle, that he was the Prince that was Promised, the one who would defeat the menace that lurked on the other side of the Wall, but more research had led him to a different conclusion. Perhaps his children would be the ones. The dragon must have three heads.

He buried his head in his hands. Everything was complicated. Not for the first time, he wondered if it would be that much worse to be born a peasant. But then, he supposed, a peasant would never be able to win the hand of Lyanna Stark, and to him that goal was now paramount. “I don’t know what the next step should be. Perhaps my ancestors would be disappointed, but I would rather have Lyanna as my wife and leave prophecy to work itself out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been great getting so much positive input on this story, so thank you to everyone who's commented, especially. This chapter is a bit longer than the last two. I hope you enjoy it.


	4. The Winter Roses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The rest of the tournament. Lyanna and Ashara have a frank conversation, and Rhaegar is injured. The future is discussed. After Rhaegar wins the tournament, he makes an impulsive decision that may have serious consequences.

“Lyanna, are you feeling all right?” Lyarra asked, as they were breaking their fast in front of their tents. Lyanna blinked, yawning.

“Sorry, Mother. I’m fine,” she said. “I guess I’m just tired. I haven’t slept all that well since leaving Winterfell.” Lyanna felt badly about lying to her mother, but what else could she say? “I haven’t been sleeping because I’ve been sneaking out every night to be serenaded by Rhaegar Targaryen.” That wouldn’t go well. 

But she could hardly begrudge the lost hours of slumber. It was the ninth day of the tournament, and the time was swiftly approaching when they would have to part ways for who knew how long. Perhaps forever. Lyanna did not want to acknowledge the possibility, but she couldn’t stop her brain from knowing the truth. It might be that Rhaegar would not be able to leave his wife before Lyanna was forced to marry Robert, or, gods forbid, something could happen to either of them. She wouldn’t waste what might be their final hours together. 

“I’m sure we’ll all be glad to be home again,” Lyarra agreed. “Be sure you don’t fall asleep on Lady Ashara,” she added with a smile. Once again, Lyanna had received an invitation to that night’s feast from Ashara Dayne, but this time she had also been asked to spend the day with her. Ned was still brooding about it when Lyanna made ready to leave. 

“Don’t worry, Ned. I’m sure she hasn’t forgotten you,” she assured him, playfully pulling at his ponytail. “I’ll send her your love.” His eyes widened and his face flushed.

“That won’t be necessary!” he exclaimed, his voice cracking, and Lyanna only laughed and walked out of camp. Arthur Dayne met her at the crossroads, quite coincidentally, of course.

“My goodness, doesn’t the Kingsguard have anything better to do?” she said, pursing her lips. “I’m perfectly capable of walking around by myself during the _day_. You can tell him I said that.”

Arthur chuckled. “Actually, it was my sister that sent me, to make sure you didn’t get lost on the way to our camp. Wouldn’t want you to blunder into the King by mistake. And it gives me excuse enough to be spared a few minutes of everyone in the Royal box either studiously ignoring each other or bickering.”

Lyanna winced. She supposed it couldn’t be easy having to deal with the Mad King day in and day out, and if Rhaegar and Elia weren’t getting along… “I hope I haven’t made things worse.”

Arthur shook his head. “I’ve never seen him happier. The problems in that family stretch back a long way; he wouldn’t want you to blame yourself,” he said. Lyanna might have inquired further but a moment later, Ashara appeared.

“It’s so good to see you, Lyanna, and thank you for bringing her, Arthur. Aerys wandered by earlier, looking for the Queen. Apparently he’d forgotten he left her in King’s Landing,” she said with a sigh. “Anyway, I knew Rhaegar would never forgive me if you bumped into the King on a bad day. “

“You ladies stay out of trouble, now,” Arthur said, before walking back toward the tourney field. “And make sure you come to the joust later.” Ashara waved at her brother with a teasing smile before leading Lyanna up the hill and to a small tea table in a pavilion surrounded by a grove of birch trees.

“We should have no one to disturb us here,” Ashara said with an expression of satisfaction. “I though it would be good for us to have a chance to speak privately. I doubt you’ve had much chance to talk to anyone about Rhaegar.” Lyanna felt her cheeks get hot. It was strange to have anyone speak to her about it so frankly. Of course, she’d accepted that Oswell and Arthur, at least, were aware of their relationship, but she’d been careful to keep it a secret from everyone else. “You don’t have to tell me anything,” Ashara continued, “But I thought you might need someone to talk to, and I admit, I’ve wanted to speak to you about Ned.”

Lyanna folded her hands in front of her, biting her lip. “I don’t want to make things difficult for you. Aren’t you one of Princess Elia’s ladies?”

“Oh, that,” Ashara said, smiling in realization. “I suppose I am, but I only was appointed to her because of how close Rhaegar is with my brother. I wanted to come to court, and that was my ticket in, so to speak. But my loyalty is to Rhaegar, and to my own house, not to Elia. She lost all of my sympathy when she took a lover so soon after their marriage.”

“So it is true, then,” Lyanna said, sighing. Even though it was good news for her, she couldn’t help but feel sad for Rhaegar. She knew it bothered him.

“Yes, unfortunately,” Ashara replied with a frown. “Rhaegar is several years younger than she is, you know, and he was only eighteen when they were wed. He tried so hard to be happy with her, and she would have none of it. He’s been like another brother to me, and it hurts all of us who are close to him to see him suffer. That’s why I’ve been eager to help. I suppose it must seem terribly suspicious.”

“Winterfell is a long way from court. All I know about it is how dangerous it is,” Lyanna admitted. “I’m sorry if I’ve been rude to you, but I feel a bit out of my depth.”

“I understand,” Ashara said, “But I hope we may be friends, and perhaps sisters as well,” she added with a smile. “Do you think… well, has your brother spoken of me?” Lyanna laughed.

“As much as Ned ever speaks. But rest assured, he’s been sulking all morning because I’m spending the day with you and he isn’t, and he turns the color of a pickled beet when anyone mentions your name. He’s definitely interested, but he’s oblivious as a fence post. You’ll have to tell him in no uncertain terms that you’d like to marry him before he gets the idea.”

“Oh!” Ashara exclaimed, delighted, her eyes already twinkling in mischievous glee. “I think I can manage to make my feelings clear on that score. Thank you. Your brother is very sweet, but he’s difficult to read.”

“He is a bit of an anxious person, but kind and honorable,” Lyanna said. “And he’ll be more open once he gets a bit more used to being around you. I think he finds your beauty overwhelming.”

Ashara laughed. “So what of you and Rhaegar? Arthur won’t tell me anything, the spoilsport. I mean, have you been meeting? Has he promised you anything? He’s been smiling and humming to himself lately, so I have to assume things are going well.”

Lyanna blushed. “He said he will do what he can. I’m sure you know I’m engaged to Robert Baratheon, but we aren’t due to be wed for at least another year. I can’t imagine my father will agree to break that engagement for anything less than a marriage offer from Rhaegar, but he’s said nothing about what he plans.”

Ashara nodded. “I can’t disagree with that. I think you’ll just have to trust Rhaegar to keep his word. He’s obviously madly in love with you. Meanwhile, we can arrange things on our own end.”

“What are you talking about?” Lyanna asked, immediately wary. She’d heard stories of the kind of things ladies did to ensure they got the husbands they wanted. Not that she blamed them. Women had precious little control over their own lives; any bit they could take back was surely warranted. But she didn’t want to trick Rhaegar. He hardly deserved that sort of treatment from her, and he had enough problems to deal with.

“Nothing unsavory, I promise,” Ashara said. “But as smart as Rhaegar is about history and military tactics, he has no idea how to sway public opinion. First of all, we’re going to watch the joust. If either Rhaegar or Arthur win this match, they’ll be going against whoever wins between Ser Selmy and Oswell for the championship. I admit, I’m actually hoping for Arthur to lose this one. After winning the melee, if he takes the joust too, we’ll never hear the end of it. Plus, winning the tourney might just give Rhaegar the confidence he needs to take the rest of his life in hand,” she said with an arch smile. Lyanna decided she liked Ashara Dayne, and she hoped things worked out with Ned, as much for her own sake as for his.

**************************************

“Stranger blast those two,” Ashara grumbled. “They’ve gone through ten lances between them already, and neither of them even looks tired. I do believe they’re just playing around.” Lyanna laughed, leaning on the railing. House Dayne was seated on the opposite side of the field from the Starks, and she hadn’t noticed before how much pressure it was, watching the tournament with her family and pretending to be indifferent to Rhaegar. But since it was just she and Ashara in their box today, she could be free with her praise and enjoyment.

“I think you’re right.” The two men had met in the middle of the field for some discussion, but they mostly looked to be teasing each other. “Part of me wishes I could hear what they’re saying, but it’s probably all terribly inappropriate.” Finally, they broke apart and went back toward their mounts. Arthur waved at Ashara, which gave Lyanna the perfect cover to wave at Rhaegar. He smiled, raising his hand, and she could see the barest scrap of gray around his wrist, tucked under his vambrace. Her heart turned over. He had kept his promise. 

“He looks pleased with himself,” Ashara said, elbowing her playfully. “But they’d better hurry up, or my plans will all be for naught.” Lyanna wanted to ask more, but then both men donned their helmets and took up their lances again. The flag dropped, and they charged toward each other in a flurry of dust. It was almost too fast to see. Arthur’s lance burst into a hail of splinters against Rhaegar’s shield, but the Prince’s lance struck true. The Sword of the Morning flew backward and hit the ground with a dull clanging of metal. He waved his hand to show that he was all right, but Lyanna only had eyes for Rhaegar. He was holding his hand to the side of his neck, and after moment, he pulled a splinter that seemed impossibly long from under his helmet. It was red with blood.

*******************************

Time blurred. It was not the first time he’d been injured in a joust, but it was certainly the first time he’d seen quite so much blood. It was rather a lot of something that was supposed to be inside his body. His head felt strangely light, and then he found himself supported by Arthur’s shoulder. “I swear if you die from a broken lance, I’ll find you in the afterlife and beat you senseless,” his friend said. Rhaegar thought he laughed. 

The next thing he knew, he was lying in his tent, out of his shirt, and the maester was clucking over him like an unhappy chicken. “You’re awake. Well, you’re going to be fine,” he said tersely. “It was a small wound but deep, but I’ve managed to stop the bleeding. No wine for the next few days. I suppose I can’t convince you not to joust tomorrow?”

“Not unless I’m actually dead,” Rhaegar said, scowling up at him. “Can I get up?” The maester shook his head, mouthing something that looked suspiciously like ‘gods save me from Targaryen princes.’

“Humor me and wait an hour or so. I sent your squire to get you something to eat and drink. You’ll be able to go to the feast tonight, never fear.” The maester left, and Oswell came in.

“Looks like you’re still with us,” he said with a grin. “I thought Arthur was going to be sick. You’ll be glad to know that Barristan and Gerrold managed to shoo your Lord Father away from lurking by your tent.”

“You have my thanks,” he said, shuddering at the thought of that encounter. Another thought crossed his mind, and he sat halfway up, looking around the tent, ignoring the throbbing in his skull. “Who took off my armor? Where is my…?”

“Looking for this?” Oswell said, holding a square of gray fabric. “The maester had Arthur and I handle your armor. I figured you’d want this kept safe and out of the way. Maybe I’ll extract a hefty ransom.” Rhaegar made a rude gesture in his direction even as he sighed with relief. It would have been upsetting enough to lose it, but if the maester had seen Lyanna’s favor, it might have caused some awkward questions. An accident like this was another reminder that the situation could not remain as it was. Extra motivation, if he had needed it. “It seems you have some more visitors,” Oswell said, and even with his eyes closed, Rhaegar could hear the smile in his voice.

“By all that is holy, tell them to go away,” he grumbled, throwing his arm over his face.

“Oh, I think you’ll be glad to see them,” he said cheerfully, and he heard the tent flap move as Oswell stepped out and someone else came in.

“I bring regrets from your Lady wife that she is to ill too attend you, but she is glad that you’ve taken no lasting harm,” said Ashara’s familiar voice.

“I just bet she is,” he muttered under his breath, and Ashara laughed. 

“I’m sorry you have to deal with him. He’s never been a very pleasant convalescent,” she said to someone, who he assumed was Oswell, or perhaps her brother, but then he felt a cool hand on his face. His eyes shot open.

“Lyanna!” he rasped, his breath catching in his throat. She smiled at him, and he could see relieved tears standing on her eyelashes. “You took a risk coming here,” he murmured, but he couldn’t bring himself to be upset. The gods knew he’d have moved heaven and earth to be by her side in the same situation. He raised his hand to caress her cheek.

“I had to see for myself that you were all right. There was so much blood,” she whispered. Her fingers touched the side of his chin. It was less sore than he might have expected. “It’s hard to believe all of that came from such a small wound.”

“Did it really look that bad?” he asked, wincing. He’d have the whole court fussing after him all evening, which might make some of his own plans difficult to achieve.

“I’m reasonably sure some of the ladies fainted,” Lyanna said. “The stands went completely silent and then the wailing started.”

“I know you didn’t faint,” he said with a lopsided grin. Her cheeks colored prettily.

“Of course not. Ashara had to hold me back from running after you like an idiot, and then when Arthur came to tell us you were fine, he acted like he was afraid I was going to murder him with my bare hands.” Rhaegar laughed.

“I don’t doubt you could, if you had a mind to. But now you know I’m perfectly well, so you’d better go before someone wonders what you’re up to in here.”

Her expression was rebellious, but she nodded. “I suppose I will see you at the feast?”

“A dozen dragons couldn’t keep me away,” he agreed, and after a moment of apparent indecision, she leaned down and kissed his forehead. He wasn’t content with that, and pulled her back down for a real kiss. 

She grinned. “You must be feeling better,” she said, her gray eyes sparkling. “I’ll see you this evening.” A moment after she left, he heard Oswell come back in.

“You look much improved. I think love must be a better physic than a maester.” Rhaegar threw a boot at him.

****************************

Lyanna was feeling calmer by the time they reached Ashara’s tent. For one blinding moment, she'd thought she was actually seeing Rhaegar die right in front of her eyes. To have never even told him she loved him, to have not ever done more than kiss. It would be too cruel. But he was alive and well, and now her resolve deepened. If it came to it, she would run rather than marry Robert Baratheon. For the time being, however, she would trust that Rhaegar would do something before that came to pass.

“My mother always said that was the worst part of being a woman,” Ashara said. “Growing to love a man, and then, one day he rides off to war and doesn’t come back, and there’s nothing you can do. Even playing at war is dangerous.” She shuddered. “I have to say though, seeing the look on Rhaegar’s face when he realized it was you was almost worth the worry.”

Lyanna smiled. “He was definitely surprised.” And half-naked. Not that she’d never seen men with their shirts off. Her brothers certainly seemed to think it was their right to go about Winterfell half-dressed at every opportunity, no matter the temperature. But seeing Rhaegar like that was different. It had been difficult not to touch him, just to know what his skin might feel like under her hands. Thinking about it would drive her mad. “Are you going to tell me your secret plan now?” she asked Ashara, who grinned.

“It’s not that big of a secret. I’m just going to make sure you look unforgettably stunning tonight.” Lyanna frowned, unsure how that was going to help anyone. Luckily, Ashara didn’t mind explaining, as she started pulling clothes out of her chest. “No matter what happens, if Rhaegar sets aside his wife to marry you, there are people who are going to be upset. There’s nothing you can do about it, but you can change the story that is told. You see, right now, he thinks the moon and stars are hung in your eyes and flowers sprout from your footsteps, but no one else is going to see that. They don’t know you the way he does. We have to _make_ them see it.”

Never mind that Lyanna thought that was impossible. “Why? I don’t understand how that’s going to change anything.”

“It’s human nature that people think better of those who are beautiful, and they think beautiful people belong together. You should have heard the tongues wag when Rhaegar and Elia were engaged. She’s older than him, like I said, and just average looking, in a delicate sort of way. They couldn’t believe Aerys had chosen such a plain bride for his astonishingly handsome son. If you come into the feast tonight, and you’re the most gorgeous woman in the room, it will only seem natural that Rhaegar is drawn to you. Everyone will be drawn to you, and instead of wondering what the Prince is doing dancing with someone who isn’t his wife, they’ll be wishing they were him. Never mind that Rhaegar thought you were beautiful before. When they tell the story of how you met, it won’t be about the fierce northern girl who beat up squires with a tourney sword. It will be about the stunning northern beauty who stole his heart at the feast. Do you see?”

“I suppose,” Lyanna said, though she was still skeptical. “Can you really make me into a stunning beauty? That doesn’t seem very likely.”

Ashara laughed. “I could make your Lord Father into a stunning beauty with the right dress and enough time. You’re already like a wild mountain flower, and with a bit of work, you can be a winter rose.”

*************************

It was a strange evening, forever graven on her memory and yet, often just a blur of disconnected images. She'd never worn such an elegant dress before, royal blue with silver piping and gemstones, and Ashara had pulled her hair half up, exposing her neck but letting the back fall in a curtain of soft curls. There was jewelry to match, of sapphire and crystal, a variety of creams and potions on her face and skin, and delicate silver slippers on her feet. Lyanna felt more like a fancy dessert than a person, and she hardly recognized herself in the mirror, but Ashara assured her that she was a vision. It seemed to be true because when their brothers came to escort them, Ned's eyes nearly popped from his skull. 

They went to the feast. Lyanna would never forget the moment that she locked eyes with Rhaegar. Even from across the room, she could see the way his attention snapped to her, his indigo eyes widening. She ducked her head away from the intensity of his gaze, and Ashara ushered her along, muttering “You two are impossible,” under her breath.

She danced what seemed like a hundred times, with practically every member of the Kingsguard, and then with Rhaegar. Robert was there, and for the first time, she found she didn't mind terribly dancing with him, even though he stank of wine, because a few moments later she was back in Rhaegar’s arms. “Your betrothed looks like he isn't sure whether he ought to be offended or not,” he said with a quiet chuckle.

“He's so drunk already, I doubt he’ll even remember anything by tomorrow,” she said, shaking her head. “And how are you feeling?”

“If the tournament were tonight, I'm sure I could beat Barristan with my eyes closed. There's nothing like knowing you have the heart of the loveliest woman in the room to make a man feel invincible,” he said, flashing his teeth in a wide grin. Later, he sat at his harp and sang “Black is the Color of My True Love’s Hair,” only he changed it to brown, meeting her eyes in a way that made her feel hot all over. It was difficult to keep from laughing, listening to the ladies debate the color of Elia’s hair. They were beginning to wonder whether Rhaegar had a paramour, but as of yet, her name had not come up, at least within her hearing. After her second dance with Oswell, Ashara took her by the arm through a side door of the hall.

“Where are we going?” Lyanna asked. They were heading into the occupied portion of Harrenhal, which she had never been to before. There wasn't much of the castle that was livable, though considering its awesome size, it might've still been larger than Winterfell. Of the tournament guests only King Aerys was staying within.

“You're going to meet Rhaegar, obviously, but we’re taking care to leave a little after him and through a different door, that's all,” she said, making a sharp right turn and leading her down a flight of narrow stairs.

“And what will you be doing?” Lyanna asked, to cover her sudden nervousness. It felt different, this meeting, more planned and therefore, more illicit.

“I'm going to go back to the hall and have a conversation with your brother,” Ashara replied with a determined and mischievous smile. “Arthur will walk you back to your tent later, and you can return the dress to me tomorrow. It looks so fantastic on you, I'd like to tell you to keep it, but my mother would have a fit.” Then she opened another door and they were outside. The sound of a lute could be heard in the distance. “Good luck,” Ashara said, shoving Lyanna through the door and shutting it behind her.

She thought it was a strange sentiment to give to someone heading to a romantic rendezvous, but then perhaps a bit of luck was needed in secret liaisons with the Heir to the realm. The sound of music led her back toward the ruins of the tallest tower, along the lakeshore. In the distance, she could just see the outline of the Isle of Faces in the center, the weirwood trees shrouded in mist. And ahead of her, on a small spit of land sticking out into the water, she could see a flicker of candlelight. As she moved toward it, she saw Rhaegar, sitting out in the grass. He was no longer wearing formal clothes, but a tunic and trews and a dark cloak. If it weren't for his long silver hair in a loose plait down his back, he could have been any minstrel camping by the side of the road. She walked up behind him and tugged on the end of his braid.

“Greetings, beautiful maiden,” he said, tipping his head to look up at her. “Though I am moved by your loveliness, my heart belongs to a fierce lady of the north.”

“Hmmph,” she said, pulling his braid again. “You didn't seem to mind an hour ago.” He laughed, and turned to pull her down to him, and she let him gather her in his arms. 

“I'll admit it felt good to know that everyone was looking at you while you were only looking at me. Ashara wasn't lying when she said she wanted you to have everyone’s attention. But as beautiful as you are tonight, I will always prefer the way you looked the day we met.”

“What, wearing ill fitting armor? Or do you mean when I was eight years old and wearing rags?”

“That last doesn't count,” he said, scowling at her. “We hadn't been properly introduced. I suppose I don't really mean the armor either, although it was surprisingly attractive.” She shook her head disbelievingly at him and he smiled. “I only meant that right now, you’re dressed as an elegant lady of court, like many others that I have met, and it only obscures who you truly are. The woman I love is so much more than a beautiful gown.”

Her heart did a somersault in her chest at the word, so simple, and yet so powerful. “Oh, really?” she managed to say through the tightness in her throat, and he nodded, his eyes wide and solemn. 

“You are clever and honest and compassionate, and I have no doubt you could outride me with ease and flay me alive with your sharp tongue if you so choose. And because of that, and more than that, I love you, Lyanna Stark, though it may be foolish.”

“And I love you, Rhaegar Targaryen, despite the obvious obstacles,” she said, hung on a strange point between tears and laughter. “I hope you don't mind me saying that, as impressive as you are in the joust, I think I prefer you as a minstrel.” 

“You're only saying that because music is safer,” he said teasingly.

“I thought I’d lost you today,” she whispered. Lyanna didn't want to admit how much it had frightened her; she didn't want to seem weak in front of him, knowing how much he admired her strength, but she couldn't help the tears that started welling up in her eyes. His arms tightened around her as he kissed them away.

“I could hardly have allowed myself to go to the afterlife before keeping my promise to you,” he said, his eyes fierce but his voice soft. “I swore I would find a way to make you my wife, and I meant it.”

“Rhaegar…” she kissed him, letting her hand travel up the nape of his neck and into his hair, and though it began gently, his mouth moved against hers in a hungry and possessive way, and she found she wanted to be claimed. She parted her lips, and his tongue delved inside her mouth, and he caressed the side of her neck with the tips of his fingers, stopping just at the edge of her bodice. But it wasn't enough. Because Lyanna had made a decision. She pushed Rhaegar into the grass, straddling his waist. His eyes went wide, but she kissed him before he could protest. She was tired of hearing about honor and purity and all of that nonsense. She could tell that he wanted her, and she wanted him, despite all the scary tales Nan told her about how painful and miserable it was. 

“Lyanna,” he groaned, and he rolled over on top of her, pinning her body with his weight. She could feel his strength, and his skin was almost fever hot. He kissed her like he could find salvation in her mouth, but then he pulled away. “We should stop this. You’ll drive me beyond all reason.”

“What if I want you to be beyond reason?” she said, looking up at him in challenge. “I don't see why men get to take as many lovers as they want while I have to wait until I'm married, or else be dishonored. I want to be with you.”

“And I want to be with you,” he said roughly. “You don't know how much. But you deserve better than a hurried coupling on the ground.”

“But what if we never…” she started to protest, but he kissed her before she could voice the whole of her fear.

“I swear to you if I have to scale the walls of Winterfell and abduct you from your bedchamber the night before your wedding, that is what I will do, But for our first time together, I'd like to be able to take my time about it. I want to give you as much pleasure as you will give me.” 

Lyanna was caught in the intensity of his gaze. For just a moment, she fancied she could see a smoldering ember in his eyes. Warmth pooled in her belly, making her squirm. “Is that so?” she said, her voice low and breathless.

“On the night when we are finally together, I will make you call my name with such joy the whole world will hear it,” he said, almost a growl in her ear, and he kissed the side of her neck, grazing the skin with his teeth. She shivered.

“I'm going to hold you to that promise,” she said, raising her eyebrows.

“I hope you will,” he replied, pulling away from her with a smile, “Perhaps you'll make me keep trying until I get it right.” 

She sat up and slapped his shoulder, scowling. “You’re awful, saying things like that, and still making me wait.”

He laughed, but held up his hands in a gesture of truce. “Peace, my lady. I promise to behave.” He picked up his lute and sat down beside her, close enough that their knees touched. “I'll play you whatever you like.”

“Have you written any of your own songs?” she asked, drawing her knees up to her chest. A cool breeze blew past, and she shuddered, missing the heat of Rhaegar’s body in more ways than one. He took his cloak from around his shoulders and draped it over her. It smelled like him, sharp and earthy. 

“Some, but they're all sad ones,” he said with a slight shake of his head. “I started making a song for you, but it isn’t finished. Maybe it will never be finished. I'll just keep writing it for the rest of our lives,” he added with a playful smile.

“Then I feel sorry for whoever has to sing it at our funeral,” she said, and they both laughed, knowing that underneath the jest they had made their vows. “You should sing a hopeful song.” He strummed his lute and sang about the coming of spring. 

Late that night, Lyanna breathed in his scent one last time and folded Rhaegar’s cloak carefully into the bottom of her traveling chest. Tomorrow was the final day of the tournament, and as everyone in attendance would be at the victory feast that evening, they would not be able to sneak away to be together. They had said their farewells, as heart-wrenching as it had been. Now, she would have to be strong and wait for him.

********************

The next morning, Rhaegar rose somewhat later than usual. It had been difficult to go to sleep, the night before, dissatisfied in body and in spirit as he was. It felt wrong, leaving Lyanna, as wrong as if the sun had risen in the west, and it took all of his rational mind to convince him otherwise. Things had to be done the right way, or risk war, and considering he was already trying to overthrow his own father, he couldn't be fighting on two fronts. The Lords were not ready to move against Aerys. They didn't realize how bad his mental state had truly become, and Rhaegar feared it would take something truly catastrophic before they would see the danger. There was nothing he could do about that, but he could, with some political maneuvering, do something about his unfortunate marriage. 

He considered it in his mind as he tied Lyanna’s favor around his right wrist and strapped the vambrace into place over it. Wearing this token of her love, as inconsequential as it seemed, made him feel stronger, not just on the tourney field, but better able to endure the every day misfortunes of life. Many of which sat up in the Royal Box waiting for him. 

When he arrived there, his father seemed unsure what was going on. Aerys’s eyes rolled about in his head like loose marbles before fixing on him with an almost frightening intensity. “I hear trumpets. Are we going into battle?” 

“No, father. We’re at a tournament, in Harrenhal. It is the final day of competition.”

“Daeron? Is that you?” the King asked, peering at him with bleary eyes. Daeron was Aerys’ long dead uncle. Judging by the few surviving paintings of him, there was some resemblance.

“No. Rhaegar, your son,” he replied with a sigh.

“You can't be Rhaegar. He's just a little boy.” Aerys rose from his seat, agitated, but luckily the Kingsguard was able to calm him down. Rhaegar instead approached his wife. It was the first time she'd come to the tournament, as far as he knew, and she sat in the center of a group of her ladies as if they were armor to protect her from the rest of the world. Ashara looked at him pityingly from the back of the group. 

He grimaced, but he was determined to do his duty as her husband, as long as that was still the case. One of them had to. “Elia? Are you feeling better this morning?” 

“I am passingly well, thank you,” she said, not meeting his eyes. “And you? Your injury doesn't trouble you?”

“No,” he replied. “It was a minor wound only. Shall we dance together at the feast tonight?” He knew she would refuse, but considering all the dancing he'd been doing for the past week, it only seemed fair to offer. Her face turned stiff and steely.

“No, I think I shall be too tired to attend. I hope you enjoy yourself on my behalf.” He didn't think that was likely, but he nodded.

“Very well,” he replied, and being able to stand no more of it, he went down into the lists to await the Champion’s tilt. He could just see Lyanna at the far end of the stands, sitting in between two of her brothers. He wished it would not be terribly untoward to go and speak to her. 

Finally, he stood in the center of the field and clasped hands with Barristan Selmy, another member of the Kingsguard. Unlike Arthur and Oswell, they did not have a particularly close relationship but Rhaegar respected him and his abilities. He mounted his horse, the same dapple gray destrier he had ridden in his first tournament. Smoke was his name, and he pawed at the ground eagerly as Rhaegar put on his helm and took up his shield and lance. He spared himself one final look at Lyanna. She might prefer him as a bard, but he needed to be a warrior if he was going to bring about the future he desired. So he would triumph, to prove to himself, and to her, that he could.

The world narrowed to the two slits in his helmet, his breath loud against the metal. The flag dropped and they charged forward. At a time like this, there was no thought, only instinct. He felt the impact of his lance striking Ser Selmy’s shield at the same time as the other lance skated over his shoulder. Barristan had aimed too high, overestimating the Prince’s height. Rhaegar tossed away his cracked lance and received another, crouching lower down in the saddle. Selmy was shorter and broader than he, but not by much. Best to strike him in the side, he wouldn't make the mistake of overextending his shoulder.

Rhaegar took a deep breath as the flag was raised again, and then they were off. The wind rushed through the gaps in his armor, and he held the lance slightly low and canted outward. The impact vibrated up his arm, even as he was himself struck in the shoulder, but he rolled his arm, letting his momentum slide the lance away while gripping the saddle with his knees. In a blur, he saw the other knight fall over the side of his horse and hit the ground. With a sigh of relief, he let his shield fall and lifted his helmet off, raising it in the air as he blinked in the sunlight. The cheers were almost deafening. He galloped around the field, the joy of triumph flooding his veins, and when he passed by the Starks he saw Lyanna smiling at him, full of pride. 

Lord Whent and his young daughter came out to present him with the prize money, which he planned to give to his squire, and a crown of perfect winter roses which the girl hung on the tip of his lance. “You must crown a new Queen of Love and Beauty,” she said with a shy smile. 

Rhaegar had almost forgotten the conceit of the tournament. He knew what he _should_ do, but as he walked his horse up to the Royal Box, he remembered the cold eyes of his wife just an hour ago. And he remembered another pair of eyes, gray like a stormy sky, but steady and clear as she told him that she loved him. He spurred his horse, and as he passed by where his wife awaited what she no doubt felt was her rightful due, the stands fell silent. His heart thudded loudly as his brain finally began to remind him why this was a terrible idea, but now he was committed. As he approached the Starks he could see their eyes widen with confusion and fear. All except hers. Lyanna met his gaze, and though he could tell she was worried about what would happen, about what it would mean, she smiled when he tipped the crown of roses into her lap. 

All the tension fled from his body as she took the flowers and set them into her hair, never taking her eyes from his. She accepted his love and whatever consequences it would reap. Since he was already damned, he blew her a kiss before he rode away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone who reads and comments. Once again thus turned out stupidly long but I had a lot to cram in lol.


	5. Mothers and Children

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lyanna and Rhaegar both get unexpected support from their mothers. Elia gives birth and Lyanna finally receives the letter she's been awaiting.

**Winterfell, 2cd month, 282 AC**

Lyanna looked out her window at the slate gray sky. They were calling 281 the Year of the False Spring. Winter had returned, as if the weather saw fit to match her mood. It had been two months since the tournament at Harrenhal, and they had been the worst of Lyanna’s life thus far.

Her family had been stunned when Rhaegar had crowned her the Queen of Love and Beauty, and they'd immediately hauled her off for questioning. She remembered the incident with a scowl. “Has Prince Rhaegar… has he dishonored you?” Brandon had demanded, his fists clenched.

“No,” she’d replied, arms crossed over her chest. “Though I don't see why it's any of your business.”

“You’re engaged to Robert Baratheon and the Crown Prince is already wed,” her father intoned. “Can't you see the implications? If Robert were to call off your betrothal…”

“It'd be awfully hypocritical of him, wouldn't it? Considering he's already sired one bastard,” Lyanna said, with venom in her voice. Her father’s face paled. “But you may be sure my maidenhead is still intact, since that's all you seem to care about.” And that's all she would say about it. 

The price for her stubbornness was being confined to the tent for the rest of the evening, with Benjen as her petulant guardian. She might have felt bad for him, if she hadn't still been seething with anger at her father and brother’s accusations. The sky darkened, and she knew she ought to go to bed, as they would be leaving for Winterfell at dawn. But she was much too restless to sleep. If only there was a way for her to speak to Rhaegar, even just to send him a message, to let him know that she was all right, and that her heart had not wavered at this first obstacle. Then she heard the music. Not one musician but several, singing a lively song of farewell, and one voice that rose above the others, carrying the melody. She would have known it anywhere. Her head popped out of the tent flap.

“Lyanna, what are you doing? I'm not supposed to let you leave,” Benjen said, squirming with discomfort at having to tell his favorite sibling not to do just what she pleased.

“I'm not _going_ anywhere. I just want to see the minstrels,” she said, gesturing to the group of performers making their way towards them.

“Oh, well, I guess that's all right then,” he said, his relief obvious. “I hope they come over here,” he added, bouncing on his toes. Lyanna decided not to say anything, fearing that appearing too eager would arouse his suspicion. Benjen was generally more perceptive than Ned. 

But of course, the minstrels did come their way, as she supposed was the entire point. Besides Rhaegar, she didn't recognize most of them, and she guessed they were musicians hired for the feast, but she did spy Oswell at the back, haphazardly hitting a drum with a wide grin on his face. They stopped right in front of the Stark tents, and the song came to a clamorous finish. Lyanna and Benjen applauded. “That was well done,” she said, her eyes fixed on Rhaegar’s. They sparkled with pleasure at successfully getting her attention, the irises the color of a summer twilight.

“Would you care to make a request, my lady?” he asked, his face a study in conflicting emotions as he held out his hand. She fished a coin from the purse at her hip, glad to have even this small excuse to touch.

“Do you have a song in mind?” she asked, placing the coin in his hand with a caress of her fingers on his palm. His other hand moved to cover hers, for just a moment, and a small object wrapped in coarse paper dropped into her palm. She closed her fingers over it, and he released his hold. Putting the parcel behind her back, she felt a thrill of relief as she looked over at her brother and realized he was none the wiser. 

“I do,” Rhaegar said with a gentle smile, taking up his lute again. He murmured to the other musicians, who nodded, and the music began. It was a wistful song of lovers separated by circumstance, one she'd heard before, but this time the words pierced her heart.

“…My love, the reason I survive,  
Trust we’ll be together soon.  
Should our fire turn to dark,  
Take my heart with you…”

When the song was over, the musicians all bowed, but Rhaegar’s eyes did not leave hers. “Thank you very much. It was beautiful,” she managed to say, sniffing to keep back the tears that threatened.

“Thank you, my lady. Good fortune in your travels,” Rhaegar said, his face strained. She tried to smile, for his sake.

“And you,” she replied. The musicians turned away, striking up a more cheerful tune as they continued down the path.

“I wish they'd sung something happier for you,” Benjen said, sighing. 

“No,” she said with a shake of her head. “That was exactly what I needed.” She went back into the tent and laid on her cot, bringing the lantern close as she unwrapped the mystery object. It was a ring, a thick copper and gold band tooled with dragons and set with a large ruby, sized for a man’s hand. It couldn't have been more Targaryen if it was labeled with Rhaegar’s name. Lyanna knew it was more than a token of his affections. He realized he had put her in a bad position, and by giving her such an easily identifiable piece of his jewelry, he was also giving her a bit of leverage, should she need it. 

She didn't want to take that route, but she did appreciate the gesture. What interested her more was the writing she had noticed on the paper covering the gift. The note was clearly written in a hurry, the handwriting cramped and blotched with ink.

_L, I'm sorry if my rash decision causes you to suffer. I stand by my promise. I will come for you as soon as I can. All my love, R._

Lyanna sighed and folded up the note, storing it and the ring inside her chest. It was more reassurance than she had expected, and she allowed herself to hope that their separation would neither be long nor as unpleasant as she feared.

But since that night, there had been no word from Rhaegar. Lyanna had hardly been allowed out of her bedchamber, but in truth she didn't feel much like spending time with her family. Ned had returned to the Vale, where'd he'd been fostered since the age of ten. Unlike Brandon, he had not made angry accusations, but seemed unsure what to say. Lyanna knew he wanted to ask what the truth was but feared both the answer and her reaction. Benjen, at least, was fiercely angry on her behalf, but she could hardly tell her eleven year old brother about her desperate love for the Crown Prince. 

Now, her fifteenth nameday had arrived. Of course, Rhaegar had no way of knowing that, and so she tried not to hope for anything on his part. She wasn't even sure her father would bother to acknowledge her. Rickard Stark was a stern man, and even the implication of impropriety had angered him. Her refusal to explain anything had only upset him further, but in her opinion, if she was worth nothing more than what her marriage could gain him, her father hardly deserved to know her heart.

A few days previously, she had received a message from Ashara Dayne. Clearly mindful that Lyanna’s parents would read it, Ashara had only reported her safe arrival back at Dragonstone in the Crown Prince’s retinue, and asked after Lyanna’s well being. She knew she should reply, but she wasn't sure what to say. Everything in her ached to know what was going on, but she had no idea how to ask about Rhaegar in a way that would not raise her father's suspicions.

So she sat alone in her room, looking out at the gray sky while wrapped in Rhaegar's dark green cloak. His scent had faded from the fabric; only rarely now did she catch the faint aroma of incense and leather, but it still comforted her. Lyanna could almost imagine that it was his arms keeping her warm. What was he doing now? Had he forgotten about her? She couldn't believe it was true, but worry pulled at her heart more with every day that passed.

The door opened behind her, and she started, turning around in her chair. “Mother,” she said with a sigh. Lyarra had not spoken against her husband at Harrenhal or afterward, but had been remarkably silent about the whole affair. Lyanna wasn't sure what to make of it. “Is something the matter?”

“I came to see how you were feeling. I know things have been difficult… with Brandon and your father. They may not be the best at showing it, but they are only concerned for your well-being.”

“If Father cared about my well-being, he would have asked me how I felt about marrying Robert. He's never cared how I felt about anything,” she answered with a scowl. Lyarra sat down of the edge her bed. Her expression was sad, and a little tired, and it gave Lyanna a twinge of guilt.

“I don't think that's true. He assumed you'd be grateful for such a match. Even now, I’m not sure he entirely understands your objections, though I do, at least in part. He wanted you to be comfortable and well-cared for, the Lady of Storm’s End. The fact that you won't speak to him hurts him, though he won't say so.”

“There's nothing to talk about,” Lyanna said, her arms crossed stiffly over her chest. Lyarra pursed her lips.

“That's a fine cloak you’re wearing,” she said gently. “Was that from the tournament?”

“Yes,” Lyanna said, dashing away a tear that appeared in her eyes at the memory of his fevered kisses and solemn declaration of love.

Her mother put a hand on her shoulder. “If you would only tell me what happened, I would do whatever I could to help. Is that Prince Rhaegar’s cloak?” Lyanna nodded, her hands over her face to hide the tears that now wouldn't stop flowing. 

“I told Father the truth. We didn't… lie together,” she said. “He wouldn't… though I wanted him to,” she added with a hollow laugh. “I still wish… He promised me, and I want to believe in him but…” Her mother shushed her and stroked her hair while she wept. She'd been holding it in, all the hurt and fear and loneliness. Somehow, the whole story spilled out, and afterward, Lyanna felt that she'd betrayed him. “Oh please don't tell anyone, Mother. Things are already so hard for Rhaegar. I couldn't bear knowing I'd made it worse.”

Lyarra patted her back like a babe and shook her head. “Of course not, dear heart. It it a difficult situation, and he has done his best to walk a fine line between love and duty. And it tallies with the strange rumors we’ve been hearing from King’s Landing. It is said the Princess Elia is with child, quite far along, yet no one knew of till after the tournament. She hasn't been seen outside Dragonstone since, and the Prince refuses to speak about it.”

Lyanna drew in a sharp breath. “Do you think that's why I haven’t heard from him?”

“That, and he's received near as much grief from his court as you have from your father,” Lyarra said with raised eyebrows. “Who knows what Elia thinks, but her family is up in arms. If she truly has been unfaithful, I suspect he wants to wait until after the child is born. If he can prove the babe is not his, it would certainly aid him in procuring an annulment from the Sept. Even if the child is his, he won't want to send Elia away with a hostage against him. And,” Lyarra added, “It is possible that he's worried what you may think of him when you hear the news.”

Lyanna shook her head. “How could I hold that against him? We hadn't even met when that child was conceived, his or not. Isn't there anything I can do?” she said, clasping her hands together. “Sitting here doing nothing and knowing nothing is going to drive me mad.”

“Write your letter to Ashara Dayne. She may be able to give you more information. I'll make sure no one reads it.”

“Oh, thank you,” Lyanna said, throwing her arms around her mother's neck. “At the very least, she can let him know that I'm well.”

“I'll try to convince your father to let you go riding with Benjen. Exercise will do wonders for worry.” Lyarra added. “If you’d like, it would be easy enough to take in that cloak for you.” Lyanna looked at her with wide eyes. “Rhaegar was clever to give you a cloak without his device or colors so you could wear it openly, but you are much shorter than he is.” It was true. As it was now, the cloak dragged on the ground with a foot long train, which was dramatic but hardly practical. 

“It's what he wears when he's being a minstrel,” Lyanna said, sighing. “It does have his name stitched inside the collar.”

“Then I'll have to do the alteration myself. No one will be any the wiser,” Lyarra said, smiling faintly.

“Mother… I’m grateful but… I don’t understand why you're doing so much to help me. Won't Father be furious if he finds out?”

She laughed softly. “If everything works out, he can hardly complain about marrying his daughter to the Crown Prince. And even if it doesn't…. Prince Rhaegar is a good man. When I was about your age, younger even, I fell in love just like this, to someone my parents didn't approve of.”

“What happened to him?” Lyanna asked. Even knowing there couldn't have been a happy ending, she felt she needed to know.

“He died,” Lyarra said, her eyes distant. “Serving Rhaegar’s grandfather Jaehearys in the War of the Ninepenny Kings. I was married to Rickard the following year. Though I have grown to love him in time, even now, I wish I had even one more moment… Sometimes we northern women need to follow our hearts.”

**Kings’ Landing, the Red Keep, 3rd month 282 AC**

Rhaegar entered the godswood with a letter held tightly in his hands. The air was fresh and cool, alive with the scent of growing things. He'd begun coming here long ago, for the privacy. No one in Aerys’s court would dare face accusations of worshipping the Old Gods. But ever since he'd returned from Harrenhal, he'd had a new appreciation for this small wilderness in the middle of his father's fortress. Here, he felt just a bit closer to the woman he loved. For her sake, and for his own, he was glad he'd convinced his grandfather not to chop down the three remaining weirwood trees. Some people found the faces carved in their massive trunks disquieting to look at, but he had always been comforted by their otherworldly presence. It was not as if he had ever been a devout follower of the Seven. If Lyanna’s gods would aid them, he’d pray with all he had in him. But today he had come to read. He sat with his back to one of the giant trees and unrolled the parchment.

It was not a letter to him, but to Ashara, because, of course, Lyanna would never have taken the chance to write to him directly. It felt strange to read words not meant for his eyes, though Ashara had given him the letter herself. Still, he touched the round, somewhat untidy, script as if he could draw strength from it. 

_Ashara,  
I am about as well as can be expected, considering that father and Brandon are still refusing to speak to me and haven't even bothered to acknowledge my nameday. I'm pleased to hear that you reached Dragonstone safely._

_My mother has agreed to send our correspondence without my father's knowledge, and she told me the news of Elia’s child. Is Rhaegar all right? If you talk to him…. Tell him that my heart has not changed. It is frustrating not to be able to speak to him myself. Speaking of which, have you been in contact with Ned?…._

The letter continued, but Rhaegar knew he'd read the part that mattered. He had wanted to send a raven to Lyanna long ago, but had been unsure whether anything he sent would even be received. And, though it shamed him to admit, he had been worried that she would be hurt when she learned of Elia’s pregnancy. He had kept telling himself that it would be better to wait until he had something concrete to tell her, but now he had no more excuses. He folded the parchment carefully just as he heard the sound of a footfall behind him.

“Will you now abandon the gods of your people, my son?” Rhaella Targaryen said, stepping into the grove and looking at him with her brow furrowed.

“I think if the Seven cared about my devotion, they would have done a better job answering my prayers over the years,” he said, staring off into the distance. “I find more peace here than in the Sept.”

“Is that due to the influence of your northern girl?” Rhaella asked, her tone curious rather than accusing.

“Perhaps,” he said, “Though I've been coming to the godswood for the silence long before I met her.” For the first time, he wondered if there was a reason he’d always been drawn here. Could he allow himself to believe that their love had been fated? Did it matter? “Was there a reason you were looking for me?”

She reached out and put her hand on top of his head. “I know I have not always been there for you, Rhaegar. Your father is… I love him, despite everything, and he has needed me most of all. But I will support you, in whatever you wish to do.”

“In whatever I wish? Even if I say that my father is going to tear the realm apart if I don't do something to stop him?”

Rhaella grimaced and then let out a heavy sigh. “Even in that. Aerys is… not the man he was. But I was referring to your wife. We have all heard the rumors. Is the child yours?”

“It's not impossible, but it is… highly unlikely,” he admitted. He knew some of the Lords would see it as a failing, his inability to control his own wife. He wondered if his mother would feel the same. She had always seemed so strong to him, like iron. But now she sighed. 

“And do you love her, this Lyanna? Or was it only a ploy to get revenge on an unfaithful wife?”

“Do you really think me that petty?” he asked with a scowl, but then he shook his head. There was no point in getting angry. It was a natural question. “I do love her… with everything that is in me. If I had been smarter, I wouldn't have given her the crown at the tournament but…”

“You don't truly regret it,” Rhaella finished with a smile. “Dragonfire can make us impulsive at times, but for the most part, you do well to keep it under your control. Whatever happens with the child, if you wish to set Elia aside and take a wolf for you bride, I will do what I can to aid you.”

“Thank you, Mother. It is good to know you don't think me completely foolish.” She stroked his hair in a way she hadn't done since he was a little boy.

“Love makes fools of all of us, Rhaegar. But it can also bring us our greatest peace and joy. Though you were born in grief, I would have you be happy.” The Queen left soon after, but Rhaegar remained, letting the silence of the godswood settle his tumultuous thoughts. 

He didn't realize he'd fallen asleep until a voice woke him. “Your Grace, are you in here?” It was Oswell. Rhaegar stood up, nearly tripping over a twisted root in his path. He could have sworn it wasn't there when he'd sat down. 

“I’m here. I'm sorry, Oswell. Is something wrong?” he asked, making his way toward the familiar white cloak.

“We just received word from Dragonstone. Elia is in labor.”

**Dragonstone, 3rd month, 282 AC**

It was over a day before Rhaegar was allowed in the birthing chamber. The maester told him in a grave voice that Elia had nearly died, and if he valued her life, he would do all he could to ensure that she never carried another child. In other circumstances, it might have been funny. There was a part of him, a cold and ruthless seed deep in his mind that spoke with his father's voice, that thought about how much easier Elia’s death would have made his life. But he silenced that thought as unworthy and went in to see what fate had in store for him.

It was Ashara who placed the child in his arms, as Elia could not yet get out of bed. “A boy,” she said to him, the rest unspoken. But Rhaegar did not need to be told; he could feel it. Or, at least, the lack of it. When Rhaenys was born and he held her in in his arms, the dragonfire in his blood had leaped up in recognition of their kinship. Now there was nothing. This child had no Targaryen blood whatsoever, though his appearance might have fooled others. His hair was fair, a blond that was nearly white, but it wasn't silver. It was too early to tell what color his eyes would be, but they certainly wouldn’t be violet. 

Rhaegar waited until they were alone, and he had placed the child back in the cradle. “Whose son it he, Elia? Don't bother lying to me now. I know he isn't mine.”

Her face blanched. “You knew? But I…” It only took her a moment to recover, for her expression of vulnerable surprise to be replaced by hard anger. “As if you have any room to talk. How do you think I felt, when you crowned you little northern whore for the whole world to see? The other ladies all laugh at me behind their backs.”

“This child was conceived _months_ before I even met Lyanna Stark, and though you may not believe me, I honored our marriage vows. Despite the fact that Kingsguard had already told me that you had not. Do not try to blame this on me,” he said, losing his temper despite his best intentions. “I have tried to be a good husband to you, Elia, and for three years you have done naught but throw it in my face. Is it any wonder that I have given my heart to another? You would have nothing to do with it.”

“I didn’t ask for this! Do you think I wanted to leave my home to live in this cold, dark castle and dance attendance on your mad father? Everyone told me how _lucky_ I was to marry the handsome Prince, especially at my age. Because I was 23, nearly already an old maid, and hardly beautiful. I heard every word that was said about me. And I was supposed to be grateful!” Her voice rose to angry shriek and the babe in the cradle began to cry. She started to sit up, but Rhaegar stepped in front of her.

“Don’t be foolish, the maester told me you aren’t to get up,” he said, but it hurt him to see the way her eyes widened in fear. Did she really think he would harm an infant? Even though their marriage had not been a happy one, he would have thought that she would know him at least that well. It was almost as of she had built an image of him in her mind that even now superseded his actual self.

The babe quieted as soon as he was nestled in the crook of Rhaegar's arm, peering up at the man who might have been but was not his father with wide eyes. In that moment, Rhaegar could not help but wonder if Lyanna would ever bear his children. What would they look like? His heart constricted with love at the thought, and he had to shake it away to come back to the present. “I did not choose you either. My father picked you because you had Targaryen blood, and did not ask my opinion, but I saw no reason to punish you for it. Nor would I punish a child for something he had no part in. I don’t know why you think me such a monster. I am sorry you have been unhappy here.” The child was asleep again, and Rhaegar placed him back in the cradle with a wistful sigh.

Something changed in Elia's face, as if a dam had been broken. “But I thought…” She took one deep breath and then another as she struggled to master herself. She was a woman of strong passions, though she tried to hide it, and Rhaegar wondered if she'd only been more open with him, could they have been happy with each other? It was too late now. Lyanna had his heart, now and for all time. “Well, it’s all in the open now,” Elia said, folding her hands in her lap. “What will you do with me?”

He turned away, walking toward the window. The moment he had been anticipating for months was so anticlimactic, it was almost unreal. “I would have you return to your family in Dorne as soon as you are well enough to travel. I will write to the Septon and ask for an annulment. That is all.”

She drew in another deep breath, as if she could hardly believe what she was hearing. “And what of Rhaenys? She is your daughter.”

“I know,” he said. This, he thought, was the most difficult part. “I… would not deprive her of her mother at such a young age, but if you do not wish to raise my child, then she will remain here. I will provide for her either way.”

Elia was quiet for a long moment. “I fear she will not be treated kindly, in Dorne. And she would miss you and Viserys.” Rhaegar nodded and started to make his way out of the room. He couldn’t imagine they had anything more to say to each other. “Rhaegar…” He couldn’t remember the last time she’d called him by name, and he stopped, despite himself. “I hope you are happy with your northern girl,” she said, and she gave him a wan sort of smile. Perhaps she was even relieved. Certainly he could feel his steps lightening as he left Elia’s suite. It was over. Even the black halls of Dragonstone seemed bright.

“Papa!” The small voice that cried out to him made him stop and turn with a smile. Rhaenys slipped her hand from her nursemaid and flew toward him on tiny legs, and he knelt to receive her in his arms. “Is Mama all right?”

“She is,” he replied, brushing her flyaway hair from her face. There was no doubt that this child, with her lilac eyes and silvery hair, was his, and he had loved her from the very first moment, though he had not the faintest idea what one did with a baby. He had only been nineteen. It seemed like a lifetime had passed. “She just needs to rest for a while. Have you been behaving for your nurses today?”

“I’ve been good,” she said, wrapping her small arms around his neck as he stood. The nurse nodded in confirmation, smiling indulgently. “Are you happy ‘gain, Papa?” Rhaenys asked, patting his cheek with concern. He couldn’t help but grin.

“I’m always happy to see you, little dragonfly. But I think things will be better from now on.” After walking Rhaenys back to the nursery, he went to his own study and pulled out a piece of parchment. He had several letters that needed writing.

**Winterfell, 4th month, 282 AC**

Life had improved, in the past month or so. Though Brandon and Rickard were still cold and suspicious, Lyanna had been allowed to go riding several times a week with Benjen, and a week ago, she’d received a letter from Ned. He’d been tactful enough not to mention Robert, and apologized for forgetting her nameday, so she had decided to forgive him. 

She had not yet heard from Rhaegar, but several nights now, she had dreamed what seemed to be a vision of her beloved in the godswood of the Red Keep. It was odd because she could have sworn she was seeing from the perspective of the Heart Tree. Once, he had fallen asleep in the roots of the tree and she had put her arms around him, only her arms had turned into roots… Even though they were strange, she found the dreams reassuring, a confirmation that he was alive and well.

Lyanna expected to receive Ashara’s reply to her letter any day. Hopefully it would have more detailed news of what was going on in Kings' Landing, and perhaps even a message from Rhaegar himself. With this thought warming her heart, she swept the green cloak around her shoulders, allowing herself a moment to run her fingers over the name embroidered there in red thread. Today was a day she was to go riding, and no matter what else was going on, running her horse through the wild northern woodlands always lifted her spirits.

Benjen burst through the door without any warning, and it might have frightened her if it was not a near daily occurrence. “We’re going to Riverrun!” he said, his face alight with excitement. “Mother is going to stay with the Tullys to help prepare for Brandon’s wedding, and she convinced Father to let you and I go as well.”

“You must be joking. How did she get Father to agree to let me south of the Twins?” Lyanna asked, grinning despite her skepticism.

“She told him that Catelyn would be a good influence on you,” Benjen said with a snort. “Also, Mother had me bring you this letter from Ashara. It feels heavy. I don’t how you possibly have that much to say to each other.”

“Oh!” She snatched the rolled parchment from his hands and shooed him out of the room. “This is private correspondence, Benjen. We can go riding tomorrow.” He complained, but left the room all the same, leaving her to roll out the parchment on her desk. It was strange. Ashara had indeed written her a letter, but not a very long one. A long section at the bottom was blank, and normally, that would've been sliced off to be used later. Pursing her lips, Lyanna read.

_Lyanna,_  
_Everything is well here. Our mutual friend is in much better spirits after I passed on your sentiments, and possibly also because Elia has returned to Dorne with her son under mysterious circumstances. As such, I’ve been living in the Red Keep with Queen Rhaella and her ladies for the time being. I told Ned to write you in my last letter, so I hope he has followed my advice. I wish I could send you more news of the Royal Family, but perhaps you will find moving to a warmer climate illuminating._  
_In friendship, Ashara Dayne._

Lyanna blinked. Moving to a warmer climate? She might have thought Ashara was talking about her upcoming trip to Riverrun, except there was no way she could have known. What else could it mean? Suddenly, as if from a dream, she remembered something the maester had showed her once. Ink that was invisible when dry, but appeared again when heated by a candle flame. She brought the letter to the hearth, holding it as close to the flames as she could without singing her fingers, and it only took a few seconds for her to see a familiar script appear underneath Ashara’s missive. 

_My beloved Lyanna,  
I apologize for not writing sooner. Things were difficult here, as you might have guessed, and I wanted to have something to tell you other than that I miss you every moment and long for the day I will see you again. Ashara told me that your father has not been kind to you since Harrenhal, and for that I apologize as well. I ought to have thought more about the consequences before giving you the crown, although you deserved it far more than anyone else. I would’ve sent you something for your nameday, but I feared your father might object. Soon I hope that will not be the case._

_Elia gave birth to a son just after Warrior’s Day, and the child was not mine. I should have told you about that sooner as well, only I had just learned of it myself, and I feared to worry you further. It seems I will forever be apologizing to you for my misdeeds, but I hope you will see fit to forgive me. I have sent Elia and her child back to her family in Dorne, though she chose to leave Rhaenys with me. I hope eventually you two will come to know and love each other, as I have contacted the Septon to ask about annulling my marriage. As soon as that has been taken care of, I will come to Winterfell myself to ask for your hand, if you will still have me._

_I hope this letter finds you well, and that you know that I think of you often and keep your favor always close by. Please return my letter as soon as you are able, though you do not have to trouble to use invisible ink. The maester will know to send any letters to Ashara to me first. I love you. I can’t say it enough._

_Forever yours,  
Rhaegar Targaryen_

Lyanna wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry or shout with joy, but she got out a clean parchment to reply right away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love them so much. And all the people that read this, thanks for your support!


	6. Confluence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaegar receives a letter from Winterfell, and makes plans to keep his promise to Lyanna. Meanwhile, she travels to Riverrun and has a few unpleasant encounters. Finally, they meet again.

**Kings’ Landing, The Red Keep, 4th month, 282 AC**

It was only a little more than two weeks after he'd sent the letter that a reply came winging its way back from Winterfell. Maester Pycelle bowed as he entered Rhaegar’s study in the Red Keep, a surprisingly cozy room paneled in maple and cherry wood with a roaring hearth and several bookcases. The Grand Maester approached the desk and the Crown Prince looked up and waited for him to speak. Rhaegar had never liked Pycelle, finding little to recommend a man who took his vows to the Citadel so lightly.

“I’ve received a reply to Lady Ashara from Winterfell,” the maester said, making it sound like a question.

“Very well. Put it there on the desk,” Rhaegar replied, hoping he was doing a decent job feigning unconcern. There was less reason to keep his intentions a secret, now that Elia was gone, but he knew the minute the court was aware that he was pursuing Lyanna seriously, the political maneuvering would increase an irritating amount. He was fairly certain the only reason he hadn't been inundated with marriage offers already was because he had deliberately remained vague about the status of his relationship with his soon to be former wife.

The maester produced the sealed roll of parchment from within his robe and placed it on the desk as he'd been asked, but he hesitated before speaking again. “Your Grace, might I inquire as to why you are intercepting the letters between Lady Dayne and Lady Stark?”

“You can inquire all you like, but as it is a personal matter, I have no intention of answering,” Rhaegar said flatly, arching his eyebrow in the maester’s direction.

“Of course, my Prince. It is only that I am concerned about the upset it might cause the realm should something disrupt Lyanna Starks’s betrothal to Lord Baratheon.”

Rhaegar snorted. “I think you ought to worry more about the upset it may cause the realm if Lord Baratheon cannot manage to stop siring illegitimate children. Unless you have some actual business with me, I suggest you go pry into someone else's affairs.” 

Pycelle sniffed. “As you wish.” He left the room without glancing back, but Rhaegar didn't move until his footsteps faded down the corridor. No doubt he was in his way to inform the Lannisters of his suspicions. The maester’s bias to Casterly Rock was so transparent, he might as well go around wearing their colors. But the Prince wasn't worried about them at present. 

He pulled the letter from Winterfell toward him, cracking the seal and unrolling the parchment. It proved to be two sheets rolled together, the first of which was for Ashara. He set it aside, his stomach fluttering with anxiety as he picked up the one addressed to him. What if Lyanna was angry with him, so angry, perhaps, that she no longer wanted to be with him? It had been more than half a year since they'd last seen each other, after all, and as intense and life-altering as their courtship had been, it was only ten days. Not long, weighted against six months of lonely winter. He swallowed and read the words.

_Rhaegar,_  


_The past few months have been agony without you. I've been so worried; news take a long while to reach Winterfell. But I know you've had it just as badly. I heard that the Martells are furious. I forgive you all your transgressions, both real and imagined, and long for the day when we will be together again. There's a lot more I’d like to say on the subject, but I feel rather ridiculous writing it down. By the time I see you again, I suspect your cloak will be worn to a raveling from overuse._  


_So, in short, of course I will still have you, you ridiculous man. Only don't come to Winterfell, as I will not be there. I'll be leaving a week from writing this letter to travel to Riverrun to help my mother and the Tullys prepare for Brandon’s wedding to Catelyn at Harvesttide. Convenient, as it is much closer to Kings’ Landing. I love you with all my heart, and I’ll be waiting for you, not terribly patiently, at Riverrun._  
_All my love,  
Lyanna Stark_

Rhaegar leaned back in his chair, unsure whether he wanted to laugh or weep with relief. She still loved him. He let out the breath he'd been holding, and read the letter again, allowing himself to smile as he folded it up and slipped it inside the inner pocket of his doublet, next to his heart. There was a sharp rapping in the doorframe and he looked up. 

Oswell peered into the office and grinned. “You look pleased about something.”

“I've had a letter from Winterfell,” he said, trying and failing not to grin like a fool. Oswell only laughed.

“Well, you'll be even more pleased to know that the High Septon has arrived to speak with you.” 

Finally, it seemed that everything was falling into place. Rhaegar took a deep breath and assembled his features into something more serious than the elation he was actually feeling. “Bring him in here, and then fetch Arthur. When I'm done with the Septon, I believe we’ll have plans to make.”

**Riverrun, 6th month, 282 AC**

“I think the rose damask and the yellow silk is a perfect combination for a spring gown, don't you?” Catelyn Tully said to her sister, Lysa. The younger of the two sisters seemed unusually frail.

“I prefer purple,” Lysa replied with a sniff. “And you, Lyanna? Perhaps you'll have a spring wedding with Robert.” She ground her teeth, suppressing the urge to scowl. They had been at Riverrun for two weeks, and Lyanna thought she was going to go out of her mind.

“Maybe,” she replied blandly. “I think green is the color most appropriate to spring. But who knows when that will happen?”

Catelyn nodded. “That's true. Everyone thought that Summer was on its way last year, but after the tournament, Winter returned as if the gentle weather was a dream.” At this, the eyes of every lady in the solar snapped to Lyanna. Apparently, now the cold was her fault, on top of everything else. She rose to her feet, unable to stand a moment more.

“Please excuse me, ladies. I need to refresh myself,” she said, striding from the room without waiting for a reply. She had no notion of where she was going, or at least, no plan, but her feet carried up the stairs and up again, until she emerged through a door and onto the battlements. A damp wind whipped through her hair as she gazed at the green lands that stretched out beyond the walls of the keep. This was a gentler locale than Winterfell, but the air still bit at her skin, and she wished she'd worn her cloak. Not only could she have used the warmth, but even that small reminder of Rhaegar’s love would have been armor against the dagger sharp words of Catelyn and her ladies.

“You must be Lyanna Stark, the Wolf Girl,” said a quiet voice. She spun around to find a lanky, sharp-eyed boy leaning against the wall behind her. “They say you've stolen the heart of the Dragon Prince, and that's why his wife has been sent away.”

She pursed her lips. “Whoever ‘they’ are, it’s hardly any of their business, is it? Who are you?”

His smile did not reach his eyes. Something about him was… disconcerting. “I'm Lord Tully’s ward, Petyr Baelish. I'm surprised Catelyn hasn't mentioned me.” Lyanna, for her part, was not. She had heard of Petyr Baelish, though she thought it prudent not to tell him so. Earlier in the year, he'd dueled her brother Brandon for Catelyn’s hand, and lost. It was surprising that Lord Tully had allowed him to remain. 

Perhaps Catelyn had spoken on his behalf, but Lyanna thought that was unlikely. The eldest child of Hoster Tully was everything a ‘proper’ lady should be, pleasant but not soft, industrious and frugal, docile with her father, but stern with her servants, and always neat and punctual. Whether she returned Petyr’s feelings or not, interceding for him to her father while preparing for her wedding to another man was surely outside the bounds of propriety. It was possible that Catelyn had mentioned Petyr, but Lyanna had not been paying attention. Every time Lyanna saw her, she wondered if Rickard Stark would be happier to have a girl like that for a daughter, and therefore felt too annoyed to pay her much mind. 

There was an easy consolation for that line of thought. Whatever her father might like, Lyanna knew Rhaegar loved her as she was, preferred her even, to the meek ladies of court. And to her, that was all that mattered. “Currently, all our talk has been wedding related,” she said. 

Petyr opened his mouth to reply, but then a bell rang from the uppermost tower. “Riders approaching!” the guard called.

Lyanna peered out into the distance, her heart leaping with hope despite herself. But it wasn't Rhaegar Targaryen coming to rescue her. “These are House Baratheon’s colors,” Petyr said mildly. She felt like she might be sick.

**Kings’ Landing, The Red Keep, 6th month, 282 AC**

The White Sword Tower was not a place that Rhaegar spent a great deal of time. Generally, if he wanted to speak to the Kingsguard, they came to him. The tower was austere in nature, with an obvious militant purpose. A bit like Dragonstone, though that was less comforting than one might have expected. Rhaegar had not moved his household there because he liked the isolated fortress of twisted black rock, but because he thought the farther from Aerys his family was, the safer they would be. It was only the fact that he did not want to leave Rhaenys there alone while he was busy in the capital that had made him bring her along. Even now, he wished he could ask his mother to take Rhaenys and Viserys back to Dragonstone, but who else would keep a reign on the Mad King while he was absent, if not the Queen?

Rhaegar was making preparations to leave for Riverrun, and, as a consequence, he had called a meeting with the entire Kingsguard. Though the outside political situation had stabilized, now that Elia had apparently asked her family to stand down, the situation in The Red Keep remained fragile. If only the Lords had accepted his offer at Harrenhal, things would be different. But he had promised Lyanna and time was running short. His love had to come first, and then he would deal with his father. “I will take Arthur, Oswell, and Jonathan with me,” he said, from where he stood at the head of the table. ‘The rest of you will stay here to guard the King, and try to keep him from doing anything… disastrous, until I return.”

The Commander of the Kingsguard, Gerrold Hightower, shifted uncomfortably. “How long do you plan to be absent for, Your Grace? Your father has been volatile, of late.”

“Less than a month, if all goes well. It is only a week from here to Riverrun, but…” There was a knock at the door, and a page entered, bobbing his head with nervousness at finding himself surrounded by all the members of the Kingsguard.

“Prince Rhaegar, I bring an urgent message from your mother, the Queen,” the boy said, holding up a scrap of parchment. 

Rhaegar took it without hesitation, and the page hurried from the room, not even waiting for thanks. The Prince looked down at the message, blinked, and then read it again more carefully. He took a deep breath, crumpling the note in his fist. “It seems there will need to be a change of plans.”

**Riverrun, 6th month, 282 AC**

The pitcher of wine was passed again. Robert filled his goblet and leaned close to her, his breath reeking of alcohol fumes. “You should drink some more. You look as though you've gone stiff from cold.”

Lyanna leaned away, hoping she managed not to look as disgusted as she felt. “I’m fine. Thank you, Robert.” 

“Suit yourself,” he said, passing the jug down the line. Ned was sitting across from her, and she looked at him pleadingly. He shrugged, wincing. The past week had been trying, to say the least. Lyanna had never been particularly interested in marrying Robert, but she didn't remember him always being this obnoxious. Was it only that now she couldn't help but compare him unfavorably to Rhaegar, or had he actually worsened with age? Even Catelyn, several seats closer to the head of the table, was looking at him like she wasn't sure whether to be angry or embarrassed.

“You'll have to excuse me for a moment,” he said, standing up with a belch. “I find myself in need of the privy.” He staggered from the Great Hall, and Lyanna couldn't help but let out a giant sigh of relief. 

“You look tired, Lyanna,” her mother said from where she sat at the right of Lord Tully. For his part, the Lord of Riverrun seemed oblivious to the tension, although if Lyanna had been pressed to describe Hoster Tully, she would have called him decent but absent-minded. “Are you sure you’re feeling well?”

Lyanna looked up at her mother, blinking in momentary confusion, before she realized she was being handed an opportunity for escape. “I am feeling out of sorts this evening. Perhaps I'll head to bed.” Lyarra nodded.

“You received a letter from Lady Dayne this afternoon. I put in on the desk,” she added with a small smile. Lyanna had to restrain herself from dancing a little jig on the spot. She fled from the hall, doing her best to appear to be tired and ill, rather than relieved and excited. Of course, fate never could let things be that easy. She was nearly bowled over by Robert as he exited the privy.

“Oh, excuse me, my lady,” he said, but his tone was not at all sorry. He braced his hand against the wall, blocking her avenue of escape. “Where are you off to, Lyanna?”

“I'm not feeling well, Robert. I'm just going to go to bed,” she said. Something about his demeanor made her uneasy; she didn't want to look him in the eyes.

“You look pretty well to me. Even lovelier than the last time I saw you. I guess that was at Harrenhal.” He reached out and strolled her cheek with a finger. She closed her eyes against the sickness she felt from his touch.

“Robert, please. I just want to go to bed,” she said, pushing against his shoulder in vain. He was like a dark shadow over her made horribly solid.

“Why won't you give me what you gave to that prat, Rhaegar?” he asked, his voice low and dangerous as he pressed her against the wall with his body. “We’re soon to be married anyway. I could make you forget all about him.” Lyanna began to feel real panic. As much as she disliked her betrothed, she’d never imagined this. And he was a large man, nearly as tall as Rhaegar but much more heavily built. If he insisted on having his way with her, there would be little she could do to stop him. His face closed in on hers and she squeezed her eyes shut. She wondered what would happen if she hit him, if she screamed? Would he retaliate?

“Robert? What are you doing?” It was Ned. Lyanna felt her knees wobble with relief as Robert backed away.

“I was just having a conversation with my fiancé,” he said, but his face was flushed. Ned looked at her, concern in his eyes, and she did not, for once, try to hide how afraid she had been.

“Lets go back to the hall, Robert. Lyanna looks like she needs rest,” Ned said, taking his friend by the arm. As soon as they turned the corner, she practically flew back to her quarters, her hands shaking as she turned the lock. Part of her wanted to think that she'd been overreacting. He had been drunk, yes, but surely, surely, he wouldn't have actually done anything against her will. 

But her stomach roiled and she curled up on her bed for several minutes, panting through waves of nausea. What was worse to her was that she hadn't fought back; she hadn't even been able to think. Would she have just let him get on with it? The very thought made her cheeks burn and her eyes sting with shame. 

Perhaps an hour passed before she remembered one important thing. There was a letter waiting for her. She unrolled the parchment, her heart racing. There was no letter from Ashara, this was from Rhaegar only.

_Lyanna,_  


_I hope to the gods that you're well. I've just learned that Robert Baratheon, having somehow already heard that my marriage has been annulled, has traveled to Riverrun. I suppose he means to prevent me from approaching your family. I fear attempting to travel there openly will provoke unnecessary conflict. However, I am aware I may have no other opportunity to see you before you are due to be married, and I have no intention of breaking my word to you._  


_At the moment, I can come up with no other solution than that, if you still desire to have me as your husband, we shall get married right away, and sort out the political nonsense after the fact. After all, it is much more difficult to get unmarried, as I have unfortunate cause to know._  


_Arthur, Oswell, and I are coming to the Riverlands in disguise. We will leave on the same day this message was sent, that is the fifteenth day of the sixth month. It will take us six days to reach our camp, which I have marked on a little map below. If you will only come to me there, my love, I will arrange for us to be married as soon as I can manage it. Of course, you should leave your parents a letter to tell them where you've gone, and let them know to send a raven to the Queen to settle affairs with the Baratheons. I've also sent a raven to Winterfell, as I understand your father is still in residence, but it will take some time to reach him._  


_If you would rather not go through with this plan, I hope you will still meet me so we can discuss matters further. If you send me no message a week after my arrival, I will assume something has happened to you and come to Riverrun anyway. I love you and dream of the day when I will hold you in my arms again. I pray that will be soon._  
_Eternally yours,  
Rhaegar Targaryen _

She read through it twice to be sure she had understood correctly. It was, on the face of it, quite an insane plan, but she remembered Robert, looming over her in the corridor. It could be that Rhaegar had a point; Robert was unlikely to give in, even if her father agreed to write a new marriage contract. And Lyanna was not entirely sure that he would, even though aligning himself with the Crown Prince would be much more politically advantageous. Because Rickard Stark was stubborn and valued his word. Even when put against the happiness of his only daughter, she couldn't be certain of the result. At least, if she left with Rhaegar now, she could be sure she would never have to marry Robert. There would be nothing anyone could do.

Lyanna pursed her lips. Six days from the fifteenth was the twenty-first, and that was tomorrow. It would be best, she thought, to leave as everyone was getting ready for the evening meal. The courtyard would be busy and the gate would be open, but by the time anyone thought to look for her, it might already be dark. She wasn't worried about finding the place Rhaegar had marked on the map. It was north of the keep, between the river and the road. She might have even been there before, on one of the few occasions she’d been freed from the stifling atmosphere of the solar to go riding. Tomorrow night, she would be with Rhaegar again. Despite the lingering unease in her belly, that thought lulled her into peaceful sleep. 

The next day, Lyanna was wound tight with tension. Robert, at least, perhaps having been told off by Ned or possibly suffering the aftereffects of his excessive drinking the night before, made himself scarce, and she was grateful for that. But the hours seemed to crawl by, even as busy with preparations as she was. She wrote a letter to leave for her mother, as Rhaegar had suggested, though, if she felt guilty about anything, it was that Lyarra would not be able to witness the marriage that she had been so helpful in bringing about. But Lyanna knew her mother would understand. Sometimes, one had to take drastic action to get the future one desired. 

Late in the afternoon, she folded the letter and left it on her bed, and she packed some extra clothes into a traveling sack, together with a few of her most precious belongings, and she wrapped herself in her cloak. The courtyard, as she had predicted, was crowded and busy. No one noticed one more traveler, and she slipped into the stables. It was lucky she knew enough to saddle her own horse, or she would have been in a bind. “Ready to go, Oakheart?” she asked her sturdy chestnut gelding as she checked his halter one last time.

“Lyanna? Where are you going?” Only biting her tongue kept her from shrieking.

“Benjen!” she hissed. “What are you doing here?”

“I asked you first,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest. They stood like that for several seconds, neither one moving. Lyanna’s mind was racing. The longer she waited, the higher the chance was that she would be caught. And of all her brothers, he was the most likely to understand. She sighed.

“Fine. If you must know, I'm leaving. I'm going to meet Prince Rhaegar, and we’re going to get married. He was going to come here and ask mother properly, only Robert’s arrival has thrown everything into chaos.”

Benjen gaped at her for a moment, then scowled. She knew he thought she was putting him on, so she met his gaze, unwavering. “You're serious?” he said finally. “What about Mother? She’ll think something terrible happened to you.”

“I left her a letter,” she countered. “But if that doesn't work, you can tell her yourself.” She pulled something out of her cloak and handed it to him, a heavy ring strung on a leather cord.

“What is this supposed to be?” he asked, frowning.

“It's Rhaegar’s. Mother will recognize it. Only give it to her, or Ned, if you have to, when they're alone. That way they'll know you're telling the truth.” 

Benjen sighed and slipped the ring into his belt pouch. “You're really going, then? Father is going to be furious. Not to mention Robert.”

“Robert can go jump into the sea, for all I care,” she said hotly, and then she shook her head. “I don't mean to make everyone upset. But I love Rhaegar, and he loves me. He loves the actual me, not who everyone says I ought to be. Now, he's done everything he can for us to be together. I won't let anyone stand in the way of that.” She pulled herself astride her horse. “If you could do me one more favor, Benjen, you'll do your best to keep them looking for me until well after dark.”

“I’ll do what I can, Lyanna,” he said, shifting from foot to foot before speaking again. “I hope you’ll be happy, and that you'll come back to us, eventually.”

She grinned. “We don't plan to run away forever. Rhaegar is still the Crown Prince. It's only, we want to be married before anyone can argue over it. As long as Father doesn't disown me, I’m sure we’ll return to Winterfell. And I'll write. Thank you, Benjen. And tell Mother sorry for me.” With that, she clicked her tongue at Oakheart and exited the stables through the postern gate. She didn't look back until the Keep was a small dot on the horizon. 

*************************

The sky was growing dark when she saw the tiny thread of smoke from a campfire in the distance. She slowed her horse to a walk. It could be anyone, she reasoned, but in her heart, she felt that it was Rhaegar. And sure enough, as she came closer the sound of music drifted through the air. Her lips curled upward, even as her heart pounded. It had been so many months. The idea that Rhaegar was here, just a few feet away, felt almost unreal. She slid from her horse, and as she did so, Oswell Whent appeared at her side, dressed in leather armor like a sellsword. He grinned and held a finger to his lips. Apparently, Rhaegar was not yet aware she had arrived. She smiled to show that she understood and walked carefully toward the sound of the lute.

Even wearing common clothes in muted colors, with a cap to cover his distinctive hair, she would have known him anywhere. His back was to her as he sat on the ground, obvious puzzling over a song. Every few moments he stopped, holding his fingers over the strings while humming under his breath. It was during one of these times that she laid her hand in his shoulder. He went very still; she thought he might not even be breathing.

“Lyanna? It it truly you?” he asked in low voice, and she laughed.

“It is me. Were you planning to meet more than one woman here this evening?” He gave a strangled snort of laughter and rose to his feet, turning to look at her. For a moment, they simply stood there, staring at each other. He was just as she remembered, only perhaps even more handsome. His blue-violet eyes devoured her like a starving man at a banquet.

“You've grown taller since last I saw you,” he said with a lopsided smile.

“And you haven't, thank the gods,” she replied. As if by unspoken agreement, they moved together, his arms encircling her waist as hers slipped around his neck and it was so… right, she almost wanted to weep. Then suddenly he was swinging her in a giddy circle, kissing her cheeks and then her lips, and they were both laughing and crying at once.

“I have missed you every moment, my love,” he said as he finally set her on her feet.

“And I’ve missed you,” she said, laying her hand against his cheek. “What are we going to do now?”

“That depends on what you say,” he answered, looking at her with utmost seriousness. “Lyanna Stark, would you consent to be my wife, as soon as possible?”

“Nothing would make me happier, Rhaegar,” she said, and he kissed her again, hard enough to leave her breathless. 

“I was afraid you would be disappointed that we aren’t going to be doing things properly,” he said. “I’ve been told that all girls dream of their wedding day. I suppose this was not what you had in mind.”

“No,” she said with a wry grin. “Until I met you, if I thought about my wedding at all, it was with dismal resignation. I am a bit sad my mother won’t get to see it. She’s been our biggest supporter, aside from Ashara.”

Rhaegar smiled knowingly. “My mother and Ashara are both seething about it, back in Kings’ Landing. We may have to get married again, just to satisfy them, though this whole plan was their idea. In any case, we should leave immediately. The further we are from here when they discover your absence, the better.”

“And where are we going?” she asked, putting her hand in his. He led her over to the horses, where Oswell and Arthur were already waiting.

“To Harrenhal,” he replied. “I thought it seemed appropriate, and Oswell’s brother, Lord Whent, will keep our presence a secret as long as he is able.” Lyanna nodded. There was a certain fittingness to it, that where they first knew each other and declared their love would be where they married. It was a two day journey, at least. Rhaegar paused. “I know I promised you could have your own horse,” he said, his smile playful, “But I’m not quite ready to let go of you so soon.”

“That’s fine,” she said with an arch of her eyebrow, “As long as we ride my horse.” He laughed, but a moment later, he pulled himself up behind her on Oakheart. She took the reigns as his hands came to rest on hips. His heart was beating against her back, and his breath stirred her hair. Somehow, she managed to remember how to ride, and with a click of her tongue, they rode off, their backs to the westering sun.

**Riverrun, 6th month, 282 AC**

It had been a tense night for Benjen, but when he announced the Lyanna was too ill to come to dinner, no one questioned him, though it was obvious that both Ned and Lyarra were concerned. Strangely, Robert flushed, but said nothing. 

But the peace was shattered the next morning at breakfast. Robert came storming into the Great Hall, his fists clenched. “Lyanna’s gone! He’s taken her, that Targaryen bastard!” Benjen felt his stomach sink, but Ned stood up, scowling.

“Why would you say that? As far as I know, they haven’t even spoken since the tournament,” he said. Benjen thought it lucky that everyone was too busy staring at Robert to notice him. 

“It’s obvious, isn’t it? Where else would she have gone?” he said, but he seemed flustered. “We have to go after her. Who knows how long they’ve been gone?”

“She could be anywhere, Robert,” Lyarra said gently. “Out riding, or on the battlements. You’re jumping to conclusions. You ought to at least look for her in the castle first.”

“I know she isn’t here,” he said, his face going red. “And I’m going to look for her!” He stormed off, leaving everyone at the table blinking in confusion.

“I should go after him,” Ned said after a moment of silence. “In the state he’s in, he’ll raise the whole countryside in a panic.” He pushed himself up from the table.

“Wait!” Benjen said, gathering his courage. “I need to speak to you and Mother. Privately. I know where Lyanna is.” He swallowed as everyone turned to him, and a moment later, Ned was practically dragging him into a corner of the upper gallery.

“Well, out with it, Benjen,” he said fiercely. “Where is she? How long has she been gone?”

“She _is_ with Prince Rhaegar. Only he didn’t take her. She rode out to meet him, last night before dinner. She made me swear not to say anything until they were well away.”

Ned’s face went deathly pale. “How? I didn’t even think they were still in contact. Isn’t the Prince married? I don’t understand how Robert knew.”

“Rhaegar’s marriage has been annulled,” Lyarra said with a sigh. “They’ve been exchanging letters using Ashara Dayne as a proxy. I knew, but I never thought they’d run off.”

“Lyanna said that he was planning to come here to ask for her hand, but he couldn’t because of Robert. They’re going to get married. She left a letter, she said, and Robert must’ve found it, I guess,” Benjen said, biting his lip.

“Why would he hide that?” Ned asked, shaking his head. “None of this makes sense.”

“I know he’s your best friend, Ned, but Robert is a proud man, prone to anger,” Lyarra said, putting her hand on her son’s arm. “It’s obvious that when he found out that Lyanna was going to marry Prince Rhaegar of her own free will, he thought the only way to stop her was to frame it as an abduction. In his mind, if the whole of the countryside is raised against them, perhaps they might not go through with it. Of course, he underestimates them, both their love and their stubbornness. I’m afraid, if pursued, they will only flee further away.”

“Then, what do we do?” Ned said, his face stricken “If Robert has his way, this will mean war.”

“They’ll go to Harrenhal, I’m sure of it,” Lyarra said. “You should go after Robert, try to keep him to the Kingsroad, or talk him into returning here, if you can. We’ll await your father and brother.”

“Lyanna said she would write, so maybe she’ll send us something once she gets to Harrenhal. Or wherever,” Benjen said. Ned shook his head and hurried from the room, and Lyarra sighed heavily. “I’m sorry, Mother. Lyanna said to tell you sorry too. She gave me something to give to you, although I don’t know if you’ll need it now.” He pulled out the ring, sparkling on the end of its cord.

Lyarra smiled gently, but did not take it. “It must have been hard for you, to keep such a secret. I think you should have it, as a mark of the service you’ve done for them. It might even come to help you, in the future.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was actually going to end up more romantic, but I decided to save that bit for the next chapter. XD Thanks for all of the great comments. I love it so much, I have neglected all my other fanfictions to work exclusively on this.


	7. Vows and Journeys

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rhaegar and Lyanna travel to Harrenhal, and are finally together as lovers. Ned follows Robert on his search, seeing his friend in a new light. The marriage vows are said. Rickard Stark receives some terrible news.

They rode late into the night. Rhaegar sang to her, sometimes, or they talked quietly of the things they'd experienced while they were separated, but for the most part, Lyanna was content to simply exist in his presence. His body was warm against her back, and it would have been dangerously soothing, except for his habit of occasionally kissing her cheek or the side of her neck. Then she became almost preternaturally aware of him, of his strength and his scent, his essential maleness, a quality she never would have framed as positive except in his case. 

She wanted more of it, to be even closer to him, and it made her impatient to get where they were going. But eventually, exhaustion overcame her, and she didn't even protest when Rhaegar took the reins from her hands. She nodded against his chest, and when they finally did stop, she was barely aware of being lifted and carried before being laid on the ground.

When she was next aware of her surroundings, it was daylight. A sheet of canvas was stretched above her, a blanket was wrapped around her, and something else, a warm arm draped carelessly over her waist. Even though she knew who it must be, she could hardly believe it. She turned, and there he was, his face suffused with the peace of sleep. For a moment, she felt as if she was getting a glimpse of the boy he had been, or perhaps could have been, were he not born the Crown Prince of the Seven Kingdoms with a madman for a father. It made her breath catch in her throat, and though she didn't want to wake him, she couldn't quite keep herself from caressing his cheek with light fingers.

His eyes fluttered open, his expression momentarily surprised before it transformed into a smile. “Lyanna,” he whispered, his arm tightening around her. “For a moment, I thought I was dreaming.” 

“I thought the same,” she replied. “But we are really here, together.” She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him, at first gently, relishing the softness of his lips against hers. She’d almost forgotten how good it felt. He traced the curve of her bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, and it made her shudder even as warmth bloomed in her belly. She opened her mouth, twining her tongue with his when it slipped inside. 

Songs and stories often mentioned desire, although usually on the man’s part, so Lyanna needed no explanation for what she was feeling. Nor was she hesitant. All those long nights alone in Winterfell, she had dreamed of this moment, and she had no intention of letting it pass by. She slid her hand inside Rhaegar’s shirt, and he gasped as her cool fingers met his warm skin, gliding along his ribs. 

“Lyanna, we…” he began, his voice a breathless moan.

“Don't you dare say we should stop, Rhaegar Targaryen,” she said with a scowl. “All this time, I’ve waited for you, and now you're finally here. We’re already running away to get married, and we’re out in the middle of nowhere. Give me one good reason why we should wait another moment.” He blinked at her vehemence, but a smile slowly spread across his face.

“I thought that I could at wait until we reached a bed, but you're a difficult woman to refuse,” he said. Lyanna chuckled softly, and her hands slipped up his back and higher until she had pulled his shirt over his head. He was beautiful. The morning light made his golden skin almost seem to glow, highlighting the lean muscles of his arms, and his unbound hair flowed down his back as he turned to press her into the ground. He kissed her lips tenderly, stroking her cheek with his thumb. “You are sure this is what you want, beloved?”

“I am sure, Rhaegar. I love you, so much. I want us to be together.” Would it have mattered, really, waiting a few more days? No, of course not, but Lyanna was not in the mood to be prudent. And there lived in her the fear, however small, that they would not make it to Harrenhal, that someone would interfere. If this was her only chance, she would seize it with both hands. 

He kissed her, his tongue once again moving into her mouth, and now his hand slipped down her neck to cradle one of her breasts. Even through the fabric of her shift, his touch made her shiver, his fingers almost hot against her flesh. She moved her hands into his hair, letting it flow, heavy and silken, between her fingers, and his teeth scraped over her lower lip in a way that made her gasp. Then he kissed her neck, sucking lightly at the skin just under her ear while his thumb brushed over her nipple. She moaned, and he paused, looking down at her with mischief in his eyes.

“If you aren't quiet, Arthur and Oswell will know what we’re up to,” he said, even as his mouth and his hands traveled lower. His lips felt nearly scalding on the peak of her breast, and she moaned again.

“If they don't want to hear they can go away,” she said, flexing her fingers against his scalp. He laughed low in his throat as he pushed her shift upward and kissed her stomach above her navel while his hands began to stroke her thighs. The warmth in her abdomen had grown to resemble a raging bonfire. “Rhaegar, please… I-”

“There's no need to rush,” he said, his lips moving to the jutting curve of hipbone. “I want to be sure that you enjoy yourself.” It was hard to argue with him, especially when his fingers began to caress between her legs, touching her most secret area so gently that she might not have felt it, except that every part of her was attuned to him as sharply as the point of a knife. He slid her smallclothes away, and then he touched her again.

A spark of intense pleasure shot through her, making her back arch. “Oh, gods,” she cried. She hadn't known it could be like this; she had to close her eyes against the intensity of it. Something was building inside her, which might have been concerning if she’d been in any shape to complain. Something changed, the sensation between her legs was hotter and wetter, and she opened to her eyes to see that was his _mouth_ , a concept she could hardly grasp. But it felt so good, the way his tongue swirled in languid circles, that she let her head fall back, twisting her fingers in his hair as her hips started to writhe without her conscious control. Then his finger moved _inside_ her, so slowly that it felt like a lifetime passed. The groan that escaped her did not sound like it came from her mouth.

“You should tell me if this is too much, Lyanna,” he said, his voice a low rasp. She could feel his breath against her thigh. “I don't want to hurt you.”

“No, it’s good, so good… please,” she somehow managed to say, and she could almost feel his smug satisfaction. This time, she'd let him have the victory. His finger moved inside her as he renewed his attentions with his tongue. It felt like drowning, like flying, she had no words to describe the pleasure that pressed in on her from all sides until she could hardly bear it and then it _broke_. like the moment the ice cracks under you, only instead of freezing water she fell into bliss so complete that for a moment she lost all concept of time and place before coming back to earth in a dizzying rush. 

She panted, her muscles limp, opening her eyes as Rhaegar's shadow moved over her. “That was…. I didn't realize…” His eyes danced with joy and humor, and he leaned down for a kiss. Remembering what his mouth had been doing just a moment ago made her cheeks feel hot. 

“Are you still interested in the rest?” he asked. It took a moment to process what he was saying, and when she did, she was almost embarrassed that she’d forgotten, amidst her own pleasure, that what she really wanted was him.

“Yes, I am,” she said firmly, pulling him close with her arms around his neck. He met her with a slow kiss, luxuriating in her mouth before pulling back to slide out of his breeches. It was certainly a diverting sight, and the first glimpse of his erect manhood filled her with shivering anticipation as he knelt between her legs.

“I'm sorry if this hurts you. I'll be as gentle as I can.” Lyanna nodded, swallowing back her lingering nervousness. Nan had not spared her the details of what went on between a man and a woman, as soon as her moon blood had come at the age of thirteen. She knew it would hurt, but now she knew there was pleasure too. It was worth it, to be with him. 

His arousal pressed at her entrance and he paused, sliding his hand down her body. “I have dreamed of this for so long,” he said, his voice shaking, and a surprising thought struck her. Was he afraid? Afraid to hurt her perhaps, or drive her away?

She reached up and caressed his cheek. “It's all right, Rhaegar. I love you. I want this.” He closed his eyes and pressed inside her, slow and deliberate. It ached, in a stretching, stinging sort of way, but not nearly as bad as she'd expected, and the heat of him was delicious. His breath came out in a hiss of pleasure as he moved deeper within her and then stilled, giving them both time, she thought, to adjust. His eyes caught hers, his pupils impossibly wide and dark, and then he moved within her. 

It was uncomfortable for the first few seconds, but, possibly because of the ecstasy she'd experienced a moment ago, the lingering pain was quickly replaced by bliss. She began to move with his slow rhythm, and his breaths turned into soft panting moans. He held her more closely, kissing her lips and cheeks, his hair falling over them like a curtain, and she wrapped her legs around the back of his thighs as she felt the pressure building in her again. It was faster, this time, as if it had been lying in wait. “Lyanna,” he groaned, “You're so….” 

Whatever she was, she never found out. She kissed him, skating her fingers lightly down his back, and he gasped into her mouth. The sound only made her desire burn hotter. She nipped his lip, and he gave a startled cry that turned into a moan as he thrusted once more, deeply inside her. It was enough to drive her completely over the edge of bliss, her body tightening all at once, and as she did, his back arched. A shudder ran through his whole body, and he called out her name as he spasmed within her. They clung together tightly, each the anchor to the other’s storm, and when it was over, Rhaegar rested his head in her chest, and she ran her fingers idly through his hair. 

After a moment, she smiled and said, “You promised me everyone in the world would hear me calling your name, but I'm fairly certain you were louder than me.” He snorted and looked up at her, appearing pleasantly disheveled.

“You're a cruel woman,” he said, “and I love you. But I'm afraid we’ll have to wait before making another attempt. I'm sure Arthur and Oswell are anxious to be gone.” So they dressed, helping each other perhaps more than was necessary, but Lyanna was glad that even in this hectic situation, they could have such moments. Just the simple pleasure of braiding Rhaegar’s hair might one day become a precious memory. 

When they finally did emerge from the tent, Arthur looked away, blushing, but Oswell grinned broadly. “Sounds like you two had a pleasant morning.”

Rhaegar scowled at his friend, but though Lyanna was somewhat embarrassed to be called out about their activities, she arched an eyebrow at him. “Jealous were you, Ser Whent? I do hope we didn't wake you.”

He nearly choked on his breakfast, and Arthur laughed. “She’s a fierce one, Your Grace. I have to say I approve. I can't imagine what the court will make of you, Lady Stark.”

Rhaegar smiled. “I cannot wait to observe their confusion. But first, we need to reach Harrenhal.” They broke their fast and quickly packed up their haphazard camp, Oswell covering the traces of their passing as best he could, and then they went to the horses.

“Am I allowed to have my own horse today?” Lyanna asked Rhaegar with a teasing grin.

He smiled back. “Do you truly mind sharing?” Already he knew her too well. 

“No,” she admitted, “Not with you, at least.” She might have been upset by the realization that she was willing to give up any of her hard-earned independence, only with him, she didn't feel that she was. He always asked what she wanted. She always had a choice.

“Then I don't mind letting you steer,” he said, and a moment later they were on their way.

**The Kingsroad, 6th month, 282 AC**

Luckily, Robert had hardly left the stables before Eddard caught up to him, riding down the Kingsroad like a madman. The past few days had given Ned a new and unpleasant look at his friend, and now he found himself filled with anger. But calling Robert on his lie he knew would make it impossible to convince him of anything. It was best to play along.

“Robert! Slow down! If you ride your horse to death, we’ll never catch anyone!” he shouted. He was surprised when it had an immediate effect. Robert pulled his horse to a walk and looked back at him.

“Ned! I thought you didn't believe me,” he said, brow furrowed.

“I think you’re being overly hasty,” Ned said as he walked his horse up beside Robert’s. “But if you want to look for Lyanna, it's foolish to go alone.”

“I won't let that silver-haired dandy make a fool of me, Ned. Lyanna is mine, and when I find him, I'll make him pay,” Robert said, clenching his fist.

Something about this speech made Ned uneasy. It was true that Rhaegar and Lyanna were breaking both tradition and the established rules of fealty. By law, Lyanna was beholden to her father until she came of age at sixteen, and then she would be beholden to her husband. The marriage contract with the Baratheons had been signed over a year ago. But it troubled Ned to hear his sister, the wild thing that she was, described in the same manner as one might a prize breeding mare. He thought about Ashara, and wondered, if she ran off with another man, would he feel the same as Robert? Ned would have liked to think he'd prefer to see his love happy. “Robert, do you really think it wise to speak of the Crown Prince that way?” he asked.

“I’d tell him that to his face. I doubt he's man enough to do anything about it,” Robert growled, though he did lower his voice. “I'm sure they'll go straight to King’s Landing, so he can hide behind his father and the Whitecloaks. We’ll catch them up.” With that, he spurred his horse into a trot. Ned followed, letting out a relieved breath.

**Harrenhal, 6th month, 282 AC**

Two nights after they left Riverrun, Lyanna saw the dark shadow of the ruins of Harrenhal in the distance. A near full moon rose behind the castle, casting it in a ethereal light, and she was reminded of the first time Rhaegar had kissed her. “I never thought I'd feel such tender sentiment for a reportedly cursed old ruin,” he murmured in her ear, and she laughed, turning to kiss his cheek. 

“I'm glad I'm not the only one feeling nostalgic,” she said. Oswell turned to look back at them, shaking his head.

“You two can admire the scenery and moon over each other when we get there,” he said. “I, for one, am tired of sleeping on the ground.”

“Really, Oswell?” Rhaegar scoffed as Lyanna clucked her tongue at Oakheart, spurring the horse to a trot. “We’ve hardly been on the road a week. You've been spending too much time in the capital.” 

“He's just bitter,” Arthur remarked with a half smile. “I think his bedroll has been too cold and lonely of late.” Rhaegar and Lyanna both snorted.

“Poor Ser Whent,” she said in dramatic fashion. “Perhaps he left a sweetheart at home, and that’s why he's so eager to get back to his family lands.”

“My Lady,” Oswell replied, hand held to his chest. “The Kingsguard is a chaste Order. My only love is to serve and protect His Royal Majesty.”

“My father is no doubt flattered by your attentions,” Rhaegar said blandly. At this, everyone laughed. 

An hour later, they were riding into the gatehouse of Harrenhal. Oswell gave the guard a passphrase, and they were let into the courtyard before being escorted to a small audience chamber. Lord Whent rose from his seat and bowed low. “Your Grace, I'm relieved that you've arrived without incident. When Jonothor informed of your intended plan, I must say I was concerned.”

Rhaegar grinned. “You're allowed to say you thought I was a madman. But so far, we’ve encountered no trouble.” 

“I hope the trend continues,” Lord Whent said, his smile a little uneasy. As loyal as he might be to the Crown, Hoster Tully was his liege-lord too. If there really was a conflict, he might find himself stuck in the middle. Lyanna hoped that would not be the case. “And you must be Lady Stark,” the lord said, turning to her.

“Not for too much longer, I should hope,” she replied. “Thank you for everything you've done for us, Lord Whent.”

“It is my pleasure, my lady. Even if I were not eager to serve my Prince in even his most outlandish plans, I hold no great love for the Baratheons. They value their ties with the Lannisters too highly. But about your marriage… I wasn’t sure, should I contact the Septon?”

Rhaegar took her hand. “Lyanna and I have been discussing that, and we have a few ideas.”

**The Inn at the Crossroads, 6th month, 282 AC**

After five days of travel, Ned felt like he was going to drop, and his horse wasn’t doing much better. Robert had been pushing them hard, hellbent on catching Lyanna before they made it to King’s Landing. When they had passed by Harrenhal, Ned had felt a twinge of guilt for lying to his friend, but then the image of Lyanna trembling with fear as Robert leaned over her had come into his mind. Ned had not had the heart to ask what had really happened, but he decided it didn’t matter. Lyanna deserved to be happy. It was clear that would not happen with Robert. So Ned shook away his guilt and instead prayed to the gods that his sister was safe.

Now they had reached the Crossroads, where the river met the Kingsroad. It was the only viable route for someone intending to travel to Kings’ Landing from Riverrun, but despite asking everyone at the inn, no one had seen Rhaegar and Lyanna. In fact, no one claimed to have seen Rhaegar in months, which was strange, if he had come from King’s Landing, as Ned supposed he must have. Had he travelled in disguise? That would make the most sense. “They’re all in the King’s pocket,” Robert growled into his ale. Of course, that was ridiculous, but there was no point in saying so. 

“Even if that’s the case, it’s obvious that we aren’t going to get anywhere this way,” Ned said, twirling his mug in his hands. The ceramic was cracked; one good knock would shatter it. It felt like a metaphor for the relationship between himself and Robert. Once Ned would’ve trusted him with anything, but now… “We’d be better off returning to Riverrun and seeing if there’s been any news. I’m sure my mother has already sent word to Winterfell.”

Robert scowled, but Ned could see that he didn’t actually have any objections. “I suppose we can’t go charging into the Red Keep demanding things of the King. Not without an army at our back.”

Ned shivered at the thought. It gave him the sort of feeling Old Nan would have called ‘someone walking over your grave.’ “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that.”

**Harrenhal, 1st day of 7th month, 282 AC**

When Lyanna had imagined her future wedding, which had not been often, she had thought she would marry in a godswood before the Heart Tree, just as her own parents had done. But one did not marry in the godswood at Harrenhal. It wasn’t even particularly advisable to enter the godswood. A pivotal part of the battle during the infamous Dance of Dragons had occurred there, and whatever had transpired had resulted in the Heart Tree being stabbed several times. Even now, the wounds bled red sap every spring, and the face was said to be terrifying to behold. The Isle of Faces, the most sacred spot remaining to the Old Gods in Westerns, was right across the lake, but one did not just travel there on a whim. It was dangerous, the kind of place that would swallow you up and never let you go. So, they would not marry in a godswood, but neither did Lyanna wish to be married in a Sept, and Rhaegar had no intention of forcing her to, as he was not particularly devout.

However, he had convinced her of the need of the Septon. “Whatever I think about their ideals, they keep meticulous records. I hope we never need it, but in the case that someone might think to contest the fact of our marriage, they will find it impossible.” Lyanna could think of several people who might want to contest their marriage, and anything that made the task harder was something she was interested in.

So now Arthur Dayne led her down a rather familiar set of stairs and out a door held open by Lord Whent. His daughter Wynafria and wife Shella clapped as she emerged onto the grass in her borrowed ivory gown with a crown of winter roses in her hair. And there, on the same spit of land where they had first confessed their love, Rhaegar waited with the Septon, Oswell standing by as a witness. Lyanna wondered if Rhaegar felt the same as she did, a light fluttering feeling in her stomach leaving her somewhere between elated and ill as Arthur led her to her husband to be. It was evening, neither day nor night, befitting a ceremony held somewhere between two faiths, and the sun shone scarlet in Rhaegar’s hair as it set behind him. Ser Dayne and the Septon said some words to each other, which she barely heard, and then she was standing beside Rhaegar, her eyes caught and held by his.

“You may now cloak your bride and take her under your protection,” the Septon said, and Rhaegar unfastened the pin at his shoulder and swept the cloak around her in one smooth motion. His lips curled into a small smile as he fastened the pin again; perhaps he was remembering the first cloak he had given her. But this one was black velvet with the three-headed Targaryen dragon in red silk on the back, declaring to the whole world to what House she would soon belong.

“My lords and ladies,” said the Septon, “We stand here in the sight of gods and men to witness the union of man and wife.” Rhaegar held out his hand and Lyanna placed hers within it. It was difficult to tell who was shaking more, but his fingers were tight around hers. A wide, white ribbon was wrapped slowly around their joined hands as the Septon continued to speak.

“Let it be known that Rhaegar of House Targaryen and Lyanna of House Stark are one heart, one flesh, one soul. In the sight of all the gods,” he said, holding his hand out the Isle of Faces which could be faintly seen through mists. Lyanna could hardly believe he’d agreed to such a thing, but then, the Crown Prince was a persuasive person simply by virtue of his name. “I hereby seal these two souls, binding them for all eternity.” The Septon unwrapped the ribbon, and now Rhaegar took both of her hands in his. “Look upon each other and say the words.”

Everyone knew the wedding vows, even in the North, yet Lyanna, for one or two seconds, thought she had forgotten. Her heart pounded a drumbeat in her ears. It was, as they said, the moment of truth, and her mind had gone blank. She took a deep breath and felt the strength of Rhaegar’s hands. She saw the love in his eyes, and it came to her, even the unfamiliar names of the Seven. And then she said the words that she had long wanted to say. “I am his, and he is mine, from this day until the end of my days.” Rhaegar smiled as he finished his vows, and Lyanna’s heart stuttered in her chest.

“With this kiss, I pledge my love,” he said, “Though it has long been given,” he added more quietly, and he took her face in his hands. Their lips met gently, once and then again, their noses brushing. Everyone was applauding, but it might have been only the two of them in the whole world. Her heart felt full to overflowing. Then Rhaegar scooped her into his arms. “I heard this was how they do things up in the North,” he said with a wide grin.

“You’d make a handsome northman,” she replied, laughing, as he carried her back into the castle to the feast that awaited them.

“No, I’d make a very cold northman,” he said. “Your father and brothers would despair of me. Targaryens are made for hot climates.” His forehead pressed to hers as they went up the stairs, and she knew he spoke for her alone. “You are the only bit of winter I will ever love.”

**The Twins, 1st day of 7th month, 282 AC**

The forbidding towers of the two castles guarding Green Crossing shone black and gold in the setting sun. Rickard Stark did not particularly like the Twins, nor their Lord, Walder Frey, but after so long on the road, he would be glad to have a bed for at least one night. The guards hailed them as they approached the gate. “Lord Stark! Lord Frey bid us offer you hospitality in the far castle when you arrived, though he is away at present.”

Rickard frowned. “How did he know we were coming if he's away? I sent no word.”

“When we heard the news, we assumed…” The guard seemed to finally take in his expression and paled. “You haven't heard?”

“What haven't I heard?” Rickard asked, gripping the reins tightly in his hands. He didn't need a soothsayer to know that whatever this news was, he wasn't going to like it.

The guard shifted uncomfortably. “They're saying all over the riverlands that your daughter has been abducted.”

“Abducted? Who would dare?!” 

Now the guard looked as if he would like to shrink into his boots. “By Crown Prince Rhaegar, my Lord.” Rickard froze. Surely it couldn't be true?

Brandon rode up beside him. “Father? Is there some problem with the bridge?”

“Prince Rhaegar has kidnapped Lyanna!” Rickard’s squire exclaimed, his voice breaking with distress.

“What?!” Brandon shouted, lunging upright. “This sort of insult cannot stand! Bad enough for him to bring rumors of dishonor upon her at the tournament, but this?!”

“Brandon, calm yourself. Lyanna swore that nothing happened between them. At the moment, this is just a rumor. We should wait until we can hear the truth at Riverrun,” Rickard said, placing a hand on his son’s arm. Even more so than Lyanna, Brandon felt the call of the wolf’s blood. His temper ran quick and hot.

He shook off the restraining hand. “I won't leave her to the mercies of those madmen! Who knows what will happen if we wait another moment? I'm going after her!” His horse reared as he brought it sharply around.

“Brandon!” Rickard called out, but he already knew it was no use. His son was riding away, calling some of his friends, second sons of minor lords and brave men-at-arms, to attend him, their young blood stirred to anger and revenge. “Damn it all,” he muttered. “Gods grant that this is all some sort of misunderstanding, and cooler heads will prevail once they’ve a few miles behind them.” He looked back to the befuddled gate guard. “I suppose we’ll stay one night, if only to refresh the horses. Then we must make haste to Riverrun and try to get this mess under control.”

**Harrenhal, 1st day, 7th month, 282 AC**

“I thought they were never going to let us go,” Rhaegar murmured as he led her to the top of the stairs. She arched an eyebrow at him, grinning.

“Getting impatient for something, were you?” she said, as if she wasn’t feeling the same. Because of course, it would have been improper for them to sleep in the same room once they arrived at Harrenhal, no matter what they may or may not have been doing before. She found that she missed him, and not even in just a lustful way, though she certainly enjoyed that aspect more than she had expected to. But just as important were the parts of having a lover no one talked about: the security of falling asleep with his arms around her, the peaceful sound of his quiet breathing, the way he smiled in the morning light when he wasn’t quite awake; she longed for these as much, if not more than being together in a carnal sense.

“I’ve missed you,” he said simply, stopping in the doorway to brush an errant curl from her cheek. “After spending nearly nine months apart, you would think a week wouldn’t feel so long. But I wasn’t sure this day would ever come, and now that it has, I want to relish every moment.”

She looked up into his eyes, rendered speechless, as she occasionally was when he spoke of his feelings. Rhaegar had a poet’s soul, and sometimes Lyanna wished she could express her emotions half as poignantly. “I’ve missed you as well, Rhaegar. It is somewhat hard to believe we are actually married.”

He smiled. “Yet we are. I am your husband, and you are my wife, and this is our wedding night.” She thought she’d never heard more wonderful words. He pushed open the door. The lavishly appointed bedroom was awash in flickering candlelight and filled with flowers of all kinds, some in vases, some just strewn about the floor. It smelled like the kind of garden she’d only dreamed of seeing.

“When did you do all this? It’s wonderful,” she said, wrapping her arms around his waist and kissing his cheek. He turned his head to kiss her properly, soft and lingering. His mouth still tasted faintly of wine.

“I am glad you like it. This is what Arthur and Oswell and I were doing while you were getting into your no doubt ridiculously complicated but quite lovely gown,” he said, moving his mouth to the curve of her shoulder.

“This is nothing compared to what I wore at Harrenhal,” she teased, though she shivered at his touch. “I believe it was primarily for your benefit that I’m not wearing six petticoats. Since, thankfully, you convinced them there was no need to carry us to the bedroom while singing ribald tunes and ceremoniously removing our clothing.”

“Because it is ridiculously embarrassing. Also, I’d prefer to have the pleasure of removing your clothing myself,” he said, his fingers trailing to the laces at her waist.

“Well then, you'd better get on with it.”

***************************

The dress was as mercifully uncomplicated as advertised, and soon slithered to the floor in a puddle of silk and tulle. Lyanna turned to face him, the curves of her body outlined through the nearly transparent fabric of her shift. He swallowed, his heart racing.

“Now, it’s my turn to undress you,” she said, her eyes sparkling with pleasure as she reached up to undo the buttons at his neck.

“Be my guest,” he said, though in truth he continued to be pleasantly surprised by Lyanna’s eagerness to be with him. Though he wouldn't have liked to admit it to her, his experience in conjugal relations was not that much more thorough than hers. 

A month before his wedding, Oswell had dragged him to a famous pleasure house in Dorne, because, as he had said, “Two virgins in a bed is one too many.” So he knew how to touch a woman, to ensure that she enjoyed herself, but Elia had never been interested in that. Nor had she wanted to touch him in any way. He’d previously assumed that she was afraid of him, though he'd tried to show her that he had no intention of hurting her. Now he wondered if had been more that she had given her heart to another. What would he have done if, after he had met Lyanna, Elia had asked him to visit her bedchamber? He would not have been enthusiastic.

So he had never been touched the way Lyanna touched him, as if she relished the feeling of his skin, or kissed him like she could only draw breath through his mouth. Was it any wonder he couldn't get enough? She made quick work of the buttons and laces of his doublet, leaving him in a thin linen shirt which she did not delay to draw over his head. He gasped as her cool fingers slid over his stomach, and he pulled her closer, so that when he took off her shift, their skin was pressed together. “Lyanna… I love you... more than I ever thought possible.”

“And I love you, Rhaegar,” she said, slipping her arms around his neck and kissing him once, fierce with passion. “So take me to bed.”

He smiled and lifted her in his arms. “As my lady wishes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took a little longer than advertised, but I had planned to finish my book project on Saturday but ended up finishing at 4am on Monday, and my family and I are leaving for a week long trip to Florida in the morning. From now on, this will be back in the rotation of my regular fanfics, so you can expect an update about ever 2-3 weeks, depending on my workload. Also, I've started a Tumblr for only writing stuff, kitswritingdesk. Feel free to follow me there for updates and other cool stuff.
> 
> Also, if people are interested in me writing the wedding night, I might do that as a one-shot later or something, I just thought it was a lot of smut for one chapter.


	8. Consequence and the Way Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A lot of talking and set-up for later. Lord Stark reaches Riverrun, Ned and Robert return, and Lyanna and Rhaegar depart for Dorne.

**Harrenhal, 2cd day, 7th month, 282 AC**

In Harrenhal, there was singing in the bathhouse. The sun was almost at its zenith, and Rhaegar and Lyanna had been up less than an hour. Now, he sang ridiculous sea shanties while she washed his hair, and the hot water soothed the aches in her muscles. Considering the reason for her soreness, she couldn’t help but feel a bit smug. Last night had been perfect, really, and she knew Rhaegar had enjoyed himself as much as she had. But now that they were married, she knew they would have to move on, and she was not naive enough to think they wouldn’t encounter some difficulties. The song ended, the last echoes leaping against the stone, and she poured the jug over his head to rinse the lather, letting her fingers travel once more through the long, silvery locks. “I bet all of the ladies at court are envious of your hair,” she teased, bending down to kiss his forehead.

He smiled at her, turning to take her in his arms. “If they are, they wouldn’t tell me so to my face. As my wife, you are the only person who is privileged enough to be able to call me pretty.” Lyanna laughed, though her heart had leaped to hear him call her ‘wife’ by name. It was a silly thing to become emotional about, but she was.

“I like being your wife,” she said, and they kissed softly. That, she didn’t think she would ever get enough of. Unfortunately, a sharp rapping on the door interrupted the moment.

“Your Graces,” called a familiar voice. Oswell had been standing outside, discouraging visitors. “We’ve had some troubling news that you’re going to want to hear.” Lyanna chewed at her lip. Bad news aside, Oswell’s words had reminded her of one thing about being married that she wasn’t sure she was going to enjoy. Before, she had just been the daughter of Lord Stark. Now, she was a Princess of the Realm.

“We’ll be out in a moment,” Rhaegar answered, grasping her hands in his own. “Whatever it is, we will face it together, that I can promise.” She nodded, but her insides still churned as they dressed. They were married, and at this point there was little anyone could do about it, but there were plenty of other things that might go wrong.

They met Lord Whent, as well as Arthur, and another member of the Kingsguard she knew less well, Ser Jonothor Darry, in the more private upper audience chamber. Servants came with refreshments, which was lucky, since they hadn’t bothered to break their fast before they took a bath, and Lyanna was starving. When they were finally alone in the room, Rhaegar looked to Lord Whent. “Oswell informed us that there’s been some unpleasant news?”

“Yes,” the Lord said, wringing his hands. “I’m afraid the rumor down in the village is that you’ve abducted your lady-wife for some nefarious purpose. The news is all over the Riverlands.”

“Damn it all, this is exactly what I didn’t want.” Rhaegar cursed, turning to Lyanna. “You did leave a letter for your parents before you left?”

“Of course I did,” she replied, momentarily incensed by the accusation. “I left it where I was sure my mother would find it. I…” Her scowl deepened as she realized what must have happened. “I can only think that Robert found it before she could, the ass. You know, he tried to bully me into bed with him, the night before I left.”

Rhaegar’s expression turned positively murderous, but he took a deep breath and nodded. “The rumors are probably his doing as well. But if we can get news to the appropriate parties, we may be able to mitigate some of the damage. I’m afraid we’ll have to leave right away, to avoid dragging Lord Whent into out troubles.”

Lyanna nodded, her fists clenched in mute fury at Robert’s probable betrayal. “At the very least, Benjen knew I was leaving of my own free will. He’ll have told Mother the truth. I can only hope she managed to get word to Father.”

“I’d hate to be in conflict with Lord Stark over a miscommunication, it is true, though we have to consider that he may not take your wishes into account,” Rhaegar said, taking her hand. It was a bothersome truth to consider. Her father had never cared that she didn’t want to marry Robert. Would he now oppose the Crown Prince on principle?

“We’ll prepare the supplies,” Oswell said. “I assume you’ll want to leave after nightfall.” Rhaegar nodded distractedly. “Will m’lady require her own horse this time?”

Lyanna pursed her lips and scowled at him. “This is no time to tease me, Oswell. I certainly can’t leave Oakheart here. My father would know him straight away. And besides, if we have to ride quickly, I ought to have my own mount.”

Oswell held his hands up to forestall further argument, though he was still grinning. “Of course, you’re right. I’ll go get the gear together.” Arthur followed him out, and Lord Whent excused himself, leaving them alone but for Ser Darry, who stood watch in the doorway. 

“I suppose we’ll take ourselves up to the rookery to write our letters,” Rhaegar said. “I thought you might want to send a raven to your family before we left, in any case, but now it’s more important that you reassure them. I’ll write to my mother and father, separately, as well as a few other people I’m certain we can trust.”

“Where will we go?’ Lyanna asked as they exited the audience chamber. Fleeing Riverrun had been one thing, when the only ones who might have chased them were Robert and maybe Ned. Now it seemed the whole countryside was looking for her, intent on delivering her back to her ex-fiance. She didn’t know whether to be furious or frightened. Rhaegar turned and took both of her hands.

“My original plan had been to go straight to Dragonstone from here, and wait a month or two for the fuss to die down. But if everyone from here to King’s Landing is looking for us, that seems foolish. And it’s the first place my father will look for me, which I’d rather avoid until things are more settled. If you have no objections, I intend to go to Dorne. There’s a place in the mountains there that Arthur’s family has been kind enough to lend to me.”

Lyanna let out a relieved breath. It was a sound plan. Though not quite the last place anyone would assume they might go, it certainly was not in a predictable direction, and as it wasn’t the seat of a noble house, it would add no fuel to the growing hostilities. “Do you think it will work?”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “I wish I could give you some sort of guarantee, but I cannot. I intended for this to be a private disagreement between Robert and I, something that could be solved with diplomacy and gold.” Lyanna scowled. Though she knew that was the way of things, she didn’t like to imagine that her life and happiness could be measured in coin.

Rhaegar pulled her closer, kissing her temple. “I hope you know that I consider your love beyond price, but a man like Lord Baratheon isn’t marrying you for you, so much as for the alliance with your father. Whatever that was worth to him, I was willing to pay. Now, I fear that Robert is looking for an excuse for war, making this into an issue between the nobles and the Crown, and my father is so volatile it will only take the slightest provocation. If it comes to that, I would fight the whole of Westeros to keep you, but only if you wish it. If you would rather leave the continent, even if you would rather return to your family, I will see it done.”

Lyanna snorted. “I would sooner become a sellsword than leave you, Rhaegar. I don’t want to be the cause of a war, but if Robert is going to force the issue, my only regret is that I won’t be able to face him myself.”

Rhaegar smiled, and she could tell he was relieved. “Plenty of Targaryen Queens have ridden to battle. I don’t see why you shouldn’t. I was thinking that if we could ever stop fleeing for our lives, Arthur might teach you.”

“Do you really mean it?” she exclaimed, throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him, much to Ser Darry’s discomfort.

“Of course,” Rhaegar said, laughing. “I’ve always thought you looked ravishing in armor, after all. But right now, you and I have ravens to send.” 

**Riverrun, 5th day, 7th month, 282 AC**

Lyarra wrung her hands, pacing in front of the hearth. It had been ten days since Eddard left, following after Robert Baratheon, and there had been no news, from either him or Lyanna. Gossip among the servants was rife, and she feared what the rumors said. That the Crown Prince had abducted her daughter, that there would be war. Of course, she squashed these lies whenever she heard them, but they always cropped up again. It boded ill, and until she had news, or Lord Stark returned, she felt powerless to do more. All she could do was pray to the gods that Lyanna was at least safe and happy with Rhaegar, and she went to the godswood every evening. But even though the Heart Tree was a true weirwood, it did not give her the same comfort and surety she felt in the godswood of Winterfell. Here, perhaps the songs of the Old Gods were drowned out by the Seven.

A knock sounded at the door and she drew herself up, smoothing the wrinkles from her gown out of habit rather than need. “Please come in.” The servant who appeared was breathless and flushed; it was something important.

“A message has arrived bearing the Crown Prince’s seal, my Lady.” Lyarra sucked in a breath. Good news, she hoped. “And Lord Stark’s banner has been sighted from the walls. He’ll be here within the hour.” The timing could hardly have been better. 

“Hand over the message and leave me. I must prepare for my Lord husband’s arrival.” The servant was crestfallen because, of course, he’d hoped to be the first to hear the gossip, but he produced the roll of parchment and bowed before shutting the door behind him. The signet was unmistakeable, a Targaryen dragon holding a shield bearing a great letter R and a small crown underneath it, indicating that it came from the prince rather than the queen. Lyarra cracked the seal with only a moment of trepidation. The handwriting, except for the postscript, was Lyanna’s.

_Mother,_

_I hope that Benjen told you the truth about my leaving if you did not receive my letter, since it is apparent that someone, likely Robert, has been telling everyone I was abducted. In any case, I am quite well. Rhaegar and I were married by a Septon on the first of the month, just as we intended. I only wish you could have been there to see it._

_With the situation as it is, we plan to travel south to avoid provoking further hostilities, and in fact, we will have departed by the time this letter reaches you. I hope that you and Father can convince Robert to stand down. I will not marry him, and in fact, cannot, and you can tell him for me that his continued interference in my affairs only causes me to despise him further. In any case, please apologize to Father for me, for all the trouble I’ve caused, but I hope he will come to respect my choice._

_I’ll write you again as soon as I am able, though I don’t know how long we’ll be traveling. I hope to see you all soon under better circumstances. All my love to you and Ned and Benjen. And Father and Brandon, I suppose._

_Your daughter, Lyanna_

The postscript was written in a different hand, and Lyarra had guessed before reading that it was from Rhaegar, so she was unsurprised by the contents. 

_P.S. Lady Stark, I apologize whole-heartedly for causing such a disturbance in your life, and I hope you will forgive me, but I love Lyanna. I could not bear to see her married to another man when it would cause her so much unhappiness. I hope this will cause no strife between your house and mine, and if there is anything I can do to assist you, especially on the matter of Lord Baratheon, feel free to write my mother, the Queen, in Kings’ Landing. I swear to keep Lyanna safe, and I hope circumstances will soon allow us to be properly introduced. - Rhaegar Targaryen_

Lyarra allowed herself a moment of relief. Lyanna was safe, she had married her Prince, and with any luck, they were well out of the reach of pursuit. Robert would have to be dealt with; a broken engagement wasn’t a laughing matter, but surely with the support of the Queen, he could be persuaded to see reason. Her husband, stubborn as he was, would surely see that having the Crown Prince as a son-in-law came with many more advantages than placating the Lord of Storm’s End.

**********************

It hadn’t been difficult to convince Hoster Tully to let her handle her husband on her own. The Lord of Riverrun was not terribly pleased to be stuck in the middle of this mess, and Rickard’s bad temper was somewhat legendary. His eyes sought her out as soon as he entered the courtyard, and he dismounted without a word to anyone else. “Please tell me that these rumors are false and Lyanna is safe,” he said, gripping her shoulders.

“Lyanna is safe, of that I can assure you, but the rest we should discuss in private,” Lyarra said, giving her husband a meaningful look. 

“By the gods,” he murmured, but he released her, and started barking orders to the men. When all the horses were off to the stable, Rickard came back to her side, and she took him by the elbow into the sitting room where a hot meal was waiting. He hardly waited for the door to close behind them before turning to her with a somewhat desperate expression. “Where is Lyanna?”

Lyarra sighed. “She is with Prince Rhaegar, but she left under her own power; she wasn't kidnapped. I’ve just received a letter from her. They were married four days ago, and now they’re traveling south in hopes of giving tempers some time to cool.”

“Married.” He sat down heavily in the chair, his fingers frozen halfway to unfastening his cloak. “What did Robert say? Why does everyone in the Riverlands think the Prince abducted her?”

“I’m afraid that’s Robert’s doing. Lyanna left a letter for me, saying where she’d gone, but Lord Baratheon found it first. If she hadn’t run into Benjen in the stables as she was leaving and thought to tell him the truth, things might have turned out differently. Robert stormed off, intending to bring Lyanna back, and I sent Ned after him, in hopes of persuading him to see reason, but I’ve had no word of them.”

“Stranger take him,” Rickard cursed. “Brandon’s charged off as well, intent on taking the Prince to task in person. I can only hope he runs into Eddard before he reaches the capital. You’re taking this all rather well,” he said, suddenly focusing on Lyarra with narrowed eyes. “I didn't think Lyanna had spoken to the Crown Prince since Harrenhal.”

She sighed. There was no point in keeping quiet any longer. “Lyanna and Rhaegar have been writing each other for months, with my assistance, but I didn’t expect them to elope. According to Benjen, the prince was planning to come here and officially ask for Lyanna’s hand, but Robert found out that his marriage was annulled and came here anticipating a fight. They decided that fleeing was the best way to avoid conflict.”

“You helped them? Even knowing everything that was at risk, you went behind my back?” Rickard growled, fists clenched. He was angry, but she knew him well enough to see that he was more hurt. Until now, they had never kept secrets from each other. They had never needed to.

She pursed her lips. “What was I to do? Lyanna has tried to talk to you about what she wanted, her whole life, but you would never hear. How do you think she felt when you refused to speak to her at the mere suggestion of impropriety, all the while knowing the man you intended her to marry had already fathered at least one bastard? You cannot say that Prince Rhaegar is not an honorable man, and this is what Lyanna wants. Can you not see fit to let her go her own way?”

Her husband scowled, but she could see that he was softening. He red-rimmed eyes told of his exhaustion, and she had no doubt he had missed his family, all those months alone in Winterfell. After a few seconds, he let out a long sigh, passing his hand over his face. “I regretted my actions after the tournament, but we signed a contract with the Baratheons. If we do not make some sort of effort to see Lyanna returned or seek restitution, we risk war. Not to mention, an alliance years in the making. And marrying into the Royal family, with things as they are… The other lords are looking for a reason to rebel.” He took a deep breath before giving Lyarra a searching look. “What would you have me do? It seems you’ve been arranging things without my knowledge, so I may as well have your counsel.”

It was about time, Lyarra thought, a bit sourly. “Prince Rhaegar left me a message in Lyanna’s letter, which was sealed with his signet, all the assurance we are likely to get at the moment. He offered his assistance with the Baratheons and advised me to send a raven to Queen Rhaella on the subject. If Brandon is on his way to Kings’ Landing, the best we can do at the moment is send a warning and our apologies, and hope it makes to the capital before our son does. I expect Ned to return any day, and if the gods are kind, Robert will be with him. Perhaps you might advise them both to return to the Vale, for the time being.”

“Very well,” Rickard said, sighing with as much relief as fatigue. “I can find no fault with that plan, though I suppose we will have to speak to Lord Tully about postponing the wedding.” He finally unclasped his cloak, letting it fall from his shoulders. “It seems my daughter is lost to me. I hope I have not also lost your love?” he asked, holding his arms open to her. It was a rare moment of vulnerability from her husband, and she wondered if perhaps they were getting old. She went to him with a smile. For all his faults, Rickard was a good man at heart.

“No. I am more proud now to be your wife than I ever was. I’m sure Lyanna will forgive you, once all this is settled.”

**Riverrun, 8th day, 7th month, 282 AC**

They clattered into the courtyard, soaked to the skin from the day of constant rain, and Eddard let out a sigh of relief to see his father’s banner hanging by the door. Robert’s mood had only soured further during the trip back, but Lord Stark was one of the few people he would be sure to listen to. Ned knew there was a chance that his father was just as bent on retribution as Robert, and would, therefore, be angry with him for returning, but he put his trust in his mother’s calm reason. The fact that only Benjen awaited them in entrance hall seemed like a good sign.

“Brother, Lord Baratheon, it is good to see you safely returned,” he said, in his most calm and proper voice. “Mother and Father wish you to attend them in Lord Tully’s solar, once you have refreshed yourselves.”

“Hasn’t there been any news of Lyanna?” Robert demanded, though with less force than he might have. Benjen’s show of manners had perhaps reminded him of his own. 

“I assume that’s what you’ll be discussing in the solar,” Benjen replied, and there was little more to be said. A rather comely chambermaid took Robert’s cloak and led him back to his chambers, the perfect distraction for Benjen to walk with Ned back to his own. 

“Has there been any news?” he asked quietly, once he was sure they were out of earshot. Benjen waited until they were safely inside the room they shared to answer.

“Rhaegar and Lyanna are married, and they’ve left the area. But thanks to Robert’s big mouth, news that she’s been abducted has traveled all over the Riverlands, and the gate guard at the Twins broke the news to Father and Brandon. Now our older brother has led a group to the capital to demand the Prince answer for his actions. Mother sent a letter to the Queen about it. All we can do it wait to see what happens.”

Ned raised an eyebrow. It was just like Brandon to do something that reckless, but he was a little bewildered that their father had allowed it. “I’m surprised the news traveled that fast. I did my best to ensure that Robert was discreet.”

“Maybe he told people before he left. It’s all the servants have been talking about. I thought Mother was going to lose her mind quelling the rumors.”

“And what is to be done about Robert?” Ned asked as he discarded his muddy clothes and washed the worst of the dirt from his hands and face. A proper bath would have to wait. “He’s not going to like this news.”

“There’s not much he can do about the marriage, except write to the Sept, and I doubt they’re going to side with Robert over Rhaegar. Father intends to convince him to return to the Vale with you.”

Eddard had no desire to go anywhere with Robert, but he could see the sense of it. Not only was it farther away from Kings’ Landing, there were fewer places in Westerns more remote, save for Winterfell, and Lord Arryn was a stern and taciturn man, not easily stirred to action. He would keep Robert from doing anything rash. “What about Brandon’s wedding?”

“Postponed,” Benjen said with a shrug. “Until everything gets sorted out, I assume. Speaking of weddings, you have a letter from Ashara.” Ned blushed, but said nothing. This wasn’t the time to get distracted.

The meeting with his parents went just as Benjen had said, and so the mood at dinner that night was pensive. Robert glowered at everyone and refused to speak, which only made Ned dislike him more. As the meal wound to a close, Lord Tully banged his goblet on the table, the signal that everyone was to attend his words. The hall went silent. 

“It’s time all these rumors were put to rest,” Hoster said, his deep voice booming to the rafters. “I won’t have it said that guests cannot feel safe in these walls. Lyanna Stark was not abducted by the Crown Prince. She left on her own, by her admission, and now it seems they’re married. Shocking as it may be, that’s the truth. Anyone in my household caught spreading nonsense will face the consequences. That is all.” Everyone started talking at once, but one voice seemed to stand out from the others.

“And you kept insisting that she’d been carried off, Petyr. I knew there was something more to the story,” Lysa said, laughing as she laid a proprietary hand on the arm of her father’s ward. Every eye in the room turned to focus on the lanky young man.

Ned thought he would have quailed under such attention, but Petyr replied without batting an eye. “That’s only what I heard. I couldn’t imagine Lyanna doing something so rash on her own.” Normally, Ned would have snorted. Obviously, Petyr Baelish didn’t know his sister that well. But under the circumstances, he felt suspicion and deep dislike. Petyr had good reason to want Brandon gone, and was certainly aware of his bad temper. It was all very convenient.

**The Reach, 10th day, 7th month, 282 AC**

Lyanna woke to a situation that was becoming both comfortable and familiar. She was in a tent, wrapped in a cocoon of furs and blankets, and Rhaegar was curled around her, his chest warm against her back and his breath against her neck. When she stirred, his arms pulled her closer, and he buried his nose in her hair. These quiet hours of the morning were their time, often the only time they had to themselves, since they spent the days traveling and the evenings around a campfire with Arthur and Oswell. They didn't make love every morning, but today when Rhaegar kissed behind her ear, she felt a spark of heat in her belly, and she rolled to face him with a wanton smile.

He kissed her, soft and lingering, his hand slipping under her shift to glide along her hip, and she pulled their bodies flush with her leg around his knee and her hand around the back of his neck. His mouth moved to her throat, and then she felt something strange. A flicker of unease, or something else, making her stomach churn. She sat up. 

“Are you all right, Lyanna?” Rhaegar asked, his hand on her back.

“I don't know,” she replied, swallowing against a suddenly dry throat. The sensation intensified, transforming from vaguely unpleasant to something more familiar. “I'm going to be sick.” She scrambled over Rhaegar, shoving him down in her haste to get out of the tent and barely made it a few steps before dropping to her knees and vomiting up what remained of last night’s meal. She heard Rhaegar's footsteps approaching, and he knelt beside her, stroking her hair. 

“How do you feel? You don't seem feverish,” he said, touching her cheek with the back of his hand. Arthur was hovering in the background, but he didn't interfere. There was a terrible taste in her mouth, but she supposed that was only to be expected.

“I feel fine now… though I'd like some water,” she said with a sigh. It wasn't precisely true; her back ached dully, just as it did during her moonblood. The thought stuck in her mind. Her last one had been long before she left Riverrun. So much had been happening, she hadn't even noticed, and now she didn't need to count the days to know that it was long past due. Which had never happened before. Unlike some women, her monthly bleeding was as reliable as the sunrise.

Rhaegar returned with tin cup full of water and a damp cloth. After washing her mouth out and wiping her face, she felt somewhat better, but it didn't change the truth. She let a long breath and looked up at Rhaegar, her husband, taking in all of him, bare chest and bare feet, his hair a wild tangle, and his face clouded with concern. There was no doubt that he loved her, and though she didn't have quite his romantic nature, Lyanna loved him just as much. She had known she would bear his children, had even longed for it… in the future. This was not an ideal time, and she worried that he might even be upset, but there was nothing to be done about it now. 

“Rhaegar…” she said, and he met her gaze, confused by her careful tone. “I think I'm with child.”

“Oh.” He sat down heavily in the dirt, his expression thunderstruck. She sat down next to him, unsure what to say, and the moment seemed to stretch out forever.

******************************

One moment, his thoughts had been racing with fear, fear for Lyanna. Rhaegar had lost friends and relatives from illness, his grandfather, aunts and uncles, even a young sibling in infancy. He would not be careless with the health of the woman he loved, but they were in the middle of the Reach, not an ideal place to stop. It was three more days at least, to Dorne, and then another day of rough mountain travel to the tower. The only other safe place nearby was Summerhall, but that was miles out of their way and no better for a sick person than any camp in the wilderness. He didn't want to involve the Tyrells unless he had to.

Then, Lyanna said his name, soft and hesitant, and he looked up. Her next words brought his thoughts to a crashing halt. A child. Their child. His and hers. He had hardly dared to think about it, even to hope for the future, and now… He laughed for joy and relief, and Lyanna’s eyes went wide. “Did you think I would be upset?” he asked, pulling her into his lap.

“Well, this isn't exactly the best time for me to be pregnant,” she said, but her features relaxed into a hopeful smile. 

“Maybe not,” he agreed. “But we’ve got months to prepare and get these matters settled, and we’ll be safe enough in Dorne, in any case.” He leaned down and kissed her cheek. “Perhaps you'll think me foolish, but ever since Elia’s child was born, I have hoped for the day when I would hold our child in my arms. Even though that day will arrive much sooner than I imagined, I cannot be displeased.” Just as he said this, another possibility crossed his mind, one that made him frown. Perhaps it was Lyanna who wasn't ready to have children. He had promised that she could learn to fight if she wished, but pregnancy would restrict her activities. If he had known, they might have been more careful. He brushed her cheek with his thumb and she looked up at him, her gray eyes unusually clear. “Are you disappointed, Lyanna?”

“No,” she said, wrapping her arms around his neck. “I’m a little surprised, I suppose, and it may still be early to say for certain. I’m worried about the future we’ll be bringing a child into and about a hundred other things, but I don't regret it. I love you, Rhaegar, and I'm happy to be able to share this with you, bad timing and all.” He smiled and kissed her, long and slow, because he had begun to realize that she trusted actions more than words.

Not that it meant he would stop telling her how he felt. “And I love you, no matter what the future holds,” he said. “But now, we'd better get dressed and be on our way. If you start feeling sick again, we may have to ride a little easier until we get to the tower.”

Lyanna made a face. “I'm fine, really. Don't you dare start fussing over me.”

“I am your husband,” he said, getting to his feet and pulling her up after him. “It is my duty and pleasure to fuss over you. But I'll do my best to keep it to a minimum.” Lyanna sighed and kissed his cheek. Even she knew there were some battles she would never win.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, everyone, for your patience and comments and kudos. If you didn’t see it, I did post a little one-shot continuing the wedding night as a separate work in this series. This chapter is a little boring, to me, at least, but I think the next one will be more active. Also, if you can, check out my tumblr kitswritingdesk as I could really use your support.

**Author's Note:**

> This isn't my normal fandom, and I can't claim to be expert, so forgive me in advance if there are some errors. However, I am a sucker for star-crossed lovers, and it has occurred to me, more than once, that many of the worst events of ASOIAF could have been avoided if some people were prevented from making really stupid decisions, perhaps by listening to their female companions and family members. This is a story in which Rhaegar and Lyanna get to live and be happy.
> 
> I made a soundtrack for this, which you can find here: https://open.spotify.com/user/mizukitsune-us/playlist/6qdKHkobEmdTuZZs7PHBtL
> 
> Also, please check out the Tumbler I made just for my writing, https://kitswritingdesk.tumblr.com/


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